


From Russia With Benefits

by beaniebaneenie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Babushka deserves her own tag, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebaneenie/pseuds/beaniebaneenie
Summary: With Bitty's graduation coming up, Jack is closer to coming out than hes ever been. Still, there's a fair bit of anxiety involved if he's the first one to do it in all of hockey.Tater knows that he's not straight either. And he knows that he can make this easier for Zimmboni. He can make his announcement at the end of the season, for Jack. They're not in the Cup. It won't be a front-page story. Nice and easy, and it'll be even easier when Zimmboni takes his turn someday.Kent has spent the last year and a half fixing things with Jack, and slowly working on getting in Bittle's good graces. It's a work in progress. So is Kent. He knows that Zimms has a tough road ahead, but if Kent comes clean to the press first, maybe it'll be easier. No one cares about the second LGBT hockey player... right?Alexei "Tater" Mashkov and Kenneth "the V is for Victory" Parson come out of the closet on the same night, and every sports reporter can't wait to get their byline on the story about the greatest secret love affair hockey has ever seen.  	 It's just a shame Kent and Tater have never actually met.  	Oh well. Nothing like a good story to bring people together.





	1. Pressers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smithy_Smith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smithy_Smith/gifts).



* * *

 

 

Kent took a deep breath, then another. He hadn’t been nervous like this in years. Not for a stupid presser. Normally, he didn’t give two fucks what the press corps thought of him or said about him. He played damn good hockey, what they said didn’t change that. So it didn’t matter. But tonight wasn’t just for him. He was doing this for Zimms.

At the start of the last season, he’d gone to Providence and spent time trying to fix whatever the hell they were now. It had actually gone pretty well. Even if Zimms’ boyfriend had treated him like death warmed over for the first two months. Eric – apparently Kent hadn’t earned the right to call him ‘Bitty’ yet – was slowly warming up. Kent hoped that what he was about to do would help.

The Aces had won last night. The last three games in a row actually. That would probably help too. The press would want to talk for a bit before the game about the streak, and then he would do his bit - and then they would win, and that would be that. All the cameras would be on him, and someday when Jack and Eric decided to tell people, then Zimms wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of being the first. It wouldn’t be as big of a story, and maybe the press would let Zimms just get on with his fucking life.

Well. maybe he would have to pull some stunt to make sure that reporters had something else to write about, when that time came. Maybe he could manage to get caught swimming in the fountain at the Bellagio. Kent snorted. Wouldn't be the first time.

Kent let them ask about three minutes of actual hockey shit… and just when he saw the PA signal the wrap up, he cleared his throat. “I uh… I’ve got something I need to say.” His teammates quieted, knowing what was coming. He’d told them, of course. And they’d actually been surprisingly great. Ace had hugged him.

 

_“No one scores on me man. Not at home or in bed either, if you know what I mean.”_

_Kent had been torn between crying and laughing that the Aces’ goalie ‘Ace’ was actually asexual._

But Ace wasn't the reason the press corps was all leaning forward, microphones stretched out, phones all queued up with emails to their editors, all hoping for the story of the century. Hoo boy. _Careful what you wish for, suckers._

“I’m gonna say this, and I’m gonna be real clear about it… ‘cuz to be perfectly honest, you all have this really annoying habit of intentional blindness to anything but heteronormativity.”

They were all sitting up straight now. His carefully cultivated ‘playboy’ persona didn’t usually sound this smart. _Jocks like to read too_ , Kent thought, then smiled. “I’m gonna say this as bluntly as possible, so you guys all can’t possibly misunderstand me or print this wrong.” He took one more deep breath, and then he said it.

“I’m queer.”

“You’re gay?” one particularly balding older man asked.

Kent rolled his eyes. “Did I stutter? I’m queer. I don’t like the word ‘gay’ for myself, because I’m not strictly into guys. Or girls. Or any one group in particular. I’ve always liked who I liked, and I didn’t really factor their personal plumbing into it. Besides, I’m not really a fan of assigning gender labels for people instead of letting them tell me how they identify.” Damn, Shitty really was rubbing off on him. That should do it though, right?

“Bottom line, for those of you who would like to print this… which I’m pretty sure is all of you: I, Kent Parson, am not straight.” He paused for a moment, allowing himself the dramatic tension before he slipped his sunglasses on, indoors. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have a hockey game to win.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Alexei’s face was flushed from their win tonight. He’d scored, and gotten two more points from assists for Zimmboni, who continued to be everything on the ice they had all hoped for.

 _And off the ice_ , Alexei thought, smiling fondly as Jack gave him a shy grin, ducking his head as Thirdy tried to ruffle his hair. His Zimmboni, and he did think of Jack as his in a way, he did name him… he was such a good person. He deserved to be happy.

And he was, with his little baker. Tater had been shocked when he found out, but he was more shocked at himself for not noticing the signs. Signs of a secret relationship. Signs of having to hide who you were and who you loved, because the world was stupid and hurtful and couldn’t understand that love is beautiful, as long as it’s real… and that real love could happen in so many ways.

Alexei had wanted to say all of this to Jack the first time Jack had told him about Itty Bitty, but Alexei knew that he only had the words to say what he wanted to in Russian. He had taken one look at their worried faces though, and had thrown grammar to the wind, wrapping his long arms around both of them and telling them that they were family. His brothers. That he loved them and would always love them. That he would keep them safe. Keep their secret safe.

That's what he was doing tonight. Protecting them. He knew they would not want to keep love secret forever. And he knew what they had was love, real love. He’d had it before. He didn’t have it now, but maybe that would make this easier. No one to drag through the papers with him. Just Alexei. That was okay though. He could do this, he was strong enough. He could be strong now so Zimmboni and Erichnya did not have to be dragged through the papers later. For them, he could do it.

He let his teammates gently push him to the waiting reporters in the locker room. His palms were sweating. This was _not_ Russia, he reminded himself. True, people like him were not always welcome everywhere, but what he was about to say would not land him in jail here, or get him killed. It would be okay. He’d told his family last night, ready to accept it if they did not want him anymore. But Papa and Mama had hugged him, Papa crying happy tears and Mamochka promising to always love her baby boy. Babushka had smacked him for suggesting that she might not always be there for him, telling him she could never abandon him, never. And his sister has smiled and hugged him close, swearing to punch anyone who said anything bad about her big brother.

Now he knew that he would always have his family. It was his turn to be there for Zimmboni.

Tonight was a big win, so they sat at a table for the press. Someone, probably George, had set it up in the locker room. She’d probably been the one to make sure Tater could sit down while he did this. He’d told her as well, of course. There was no way he would have popped out an announcement like this without telling her.

The questions about the game, strategy, and team tactics went on for ages. But then there was a lull. _Now or never_ , he thought. It had to be now. George caught his eye, then spoke up.

“We only have a few more minutes for tonight, but before you all ask final questions, Mr. Mashkov has something he’d like to say.” She turned to him. “Alexei,” she said, more gently, then nudged a microphone toward him.

“Thanks George. I do have announcement. Is big one, and hard for me to say… but is important. For me, and for people I love.” He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. It was different here, it would be easy. George wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. The team wouldn’t either. Tater took a steadying breath, then plowed on before his courage left him.

“I know I am different, when I am small. I ah… sorry. Is not easy for me to say,” he apologized. “Where I grow up, is bad. Dangerous.” He saw a few of the reporters looking confused, and a few looking suspicious. He’d better get on with it. Easier that way. “I… I am think everyone is beautiful. Not only women, men too. And everyone else,” he added, remembering his dear Zhenya, and how wonderful it had been to have them in his life. They hadn’t been a permanent partner, but they were no less important. “I know is word for this… I’m not knowing it exactly… but word is not important,” he said. George had told him to do his best to keep the reporters focused, to keep his announcement as clear as possible.

“I know this make me different, especially in hockey. But it not change my game. I still play as good as always. Who I love is not changing my game. But is important for me to say anyway. For to tell truth about myself. For me, and people like me. For to know is okay. I am who I am, and I still can play.”

There. That should do it. His palms were still sweaty, and he was positive that if his hands weren’t so tightly clenched, they would be shaking.

This was it, he knew. He could never go back to Russia now. Not even to visit. That was okay though really. His family was all over here now. Most of the time, anyway. And there were ways to get in touch with his friends who still lived in the old country. Everything was going to be okay. Now he just had to make it through the reporters’ final questions, and then he could go home.

 

 _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Kent breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They had won. Technically, it wouldn’t have changed anything of they’d lost. He’d still be queer. He’d still be out. But he knew if they’d lost, the paper would talk about how his sexuality was hurting his game. They couldn’t say that now. He’d scored twice, and the team had pulled a shutout.

“That was for you Parsnip,” Ace said, ruffling his hair.

“No one scores on you, huh?”

“Damn straight. Well,” Ace grinned, his chipped tooth peeking out, “even not so straight. We’re doing just fine. And whatever the gossip rags print, we’ll back you up.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Come on. We’ve got to let them see that pretty face and ask you about your almost-hatty.”

They didn’t ask about the almost-hatty. They didn’t even ask about the shutout. They were all clamoring to get their microphones in Kent’s face though, so they did want to ask him _something_.

Fred was doing her best to control them, but she could tell they were like sharks with blood in the water. It would be better to just let them ask what they wanted and get it over with. The Aces assistant manager locked eyes with Kent, knowing that he would be the inevitable subject of the onslaught of questions. He nodded at her, and she picked a reporter at random.

“Parson," he _knew_ it would be for him, “Do you have any comment about tonight’s announcement?”

For a moment, he was dumbfounded. Were they seriously still not getting it? “I thought I was pretty clear,” he said slowly, ready to launch into another speech if he had to.

“Not your announcement,” the reporter clarified. “ _Alexei Mashkov’s_.”

“Mashkov?” Kent wracked his brain. “Falconers captain?” he looked over at Fred, who was checking her phone – probably the news feed to see what announcement Mashkov had made. Fred’s eyes widened.

“Is he okay?” Kent asked, worried Fred might’ve read something bad. “Did he get hurt or something?”

“Are you always this protective and worried about your boyfriend?”

Kent’s brain went blank. “My what?”

The questions fired at him from all sides now.

 

_“What’s it like to play on opposite sides of the country?”_

_“Why was it your first instinct to assume he was injured?”_

_“Are you privy to unreleased information about Mashkov’s health?”_

_“How long have you two been together?”_

 

 _Shit._ What the hell just happened?

 

* * *

 


	2. Don't Drink and Tweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent and Alexei both have some fallout from their respective pressers... and Kent takes to social media to do some damage control... he thinks. He's had a lot to drink. Thank god for DMs.

* * *

Kent knew he was standing there like an idiot. He had to give them a sound byte before they made up their own. “Isn’t Mashkov straight?”

That is absolutely not what he meant to say. What the hell was wrong with him? Fred was shaking her head and facepalming. But one of the reporters was looking at him expectantly. 

“Sorry. What was that again?” Great. He hasn’t made this much of an idiot of himself in front of the press since the juniors.

Luckily, the reporter was willing to humor him, or more likely, really wanted an answer.

“Alexei Mashkov announced less than fifteen minutes ago that he’s pansexual. Were you expecting this announcement?”

“Why should I have been?”

“So you’re denying the relationship?”

Kent sighed. This was already bad, but maybe he could salvage something. “Mashkov and I aren’t dating. I haven’t had a chance to see any of his presser, but I will say that coming out is really hard, and I think it’s really brave. Wherever he is and however he identifies, I support him.”

“You support him, but you’re not dating him?”

Kent knew he was feeding the sharks, but he was both frustrated and curious. Not a good combination, but not unusual for him. “Why do you keep asking that?”

“He just called you ‘cute’.” The reporter turned his iPhone around, playing the Falcs’ video clip in question, and yup, there was the curly-haired, slightly sweaty Russian… calling him cute.

 

_“Da, Parson is cute, sure… why you are asking me? Is probably lots of people thinking this, he is very handsome.”_

 

Mashkov looked nervous and confused, and Kent knew how the press would interpret that.

“You’re blushing, Mr. Parson. Hardly a good strategy to convince us that you’re not involved.”

 _Damn_. “Hey, he’s a good-looking dude too, and he just complimented me. You’d blush too.” _Shit_.

“No more questions, thank you,” Fred finally said, stepping in before Kent could shove his foot any further up his mouth. The press left more quickly than usual, probably all hoping to get home and submit their stories first.

“Good job there, Parsley.” Fred was looking tired.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know Mashkov did that?”

“So you’re not really dating him?”

“No!”

Fred smiled, looking a bit better. She ruffled his hair. “I was worried you were holding out on me, Kent. Don’t do that, okay? Seriously though, if tonight was any indication of where the media is going to take this, you might want to get in touch with Mashkov and warn him. Let him know that you didn’t start this,” she said. “I’ll call the Falcs team manager and see if there’s a strategy we can put in place.” She sighed, smiling at him. “We’ll figure this out, and we’ll stick by you, Kent. You two might need to spend some time together though, as the only two out players in the league.”

“Okay. Can I go home now though? It’s been kind of a weird day.”

“Sure thing. And Parse? As far as Coach is concerned, he said practice is optional for you until Friday. If you need the media blackout time, take it. You did good Parse, he’s proud of you,” she added.

“Thanks,” he said softly, feeling more grateful than he had in a long time as he left the arena and went for his car.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

“Tater, what about Kent Parson?”

The reporter’s voice carried over the buzz that rose immediately after Alexei had stopped talking. “Parson?” he asked. “What about Parson?” He was confused. He had expected them to ask about him, his life. He expected them to make him prove that he wasn’t straight. He had practiced answers to those questions. Alexei hadn’t considered that they’d ask him about other players.

“This about me,” he said, remembering what George had said about maintaining focus. “Not him.”

“Trying to steal the headlines from your boyfriend, huh Tater?”

“Boy- no,” he said. “Parson not my boyfriend. I mean, _da_ … Parson is cute, sure… why you are asking me? Is probably lots of people thinking this, he is very handsome… and very good player. He just make new record, no?”

“One more question,” George said forcefully, knowing that she would have to make sure Tater knew she wasn’t upset with him for anything he’d said. He was already beginning to look like a kicked puppy, and she hated it when people made Tater look that way. George picked the new kid in the room, Tyrone Tucker. He had been pretty quiet the last few pressers, and he seemed polite enough. Apparently, he’d just been biding his time.

“For not being your boyfriend, you sure like complimenting him and keeping up with his stats.”

“I – I just –”

“That was not a question, and if you refuse to respect my time or my players, then this conference is over.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Ten minutes later, Alexei was still sitting at the table, staring at his hands. The rest of them had cleared out pretty quickly, but truth be told, he hadn’t really noticed.

“-all right, Tater-tot?”

“Huh?” Tater’s brown eyes looked up, George’s voice jarring him from the whirlwind in his mind.

“I just asked if you were feeling okay, big guy.” George’s voice was soft, caring. It was nice to hear.

“I- I’m… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice much more subdued than normal.

“That’s okay, Tater. You did a big thing today. So did Parson, it seems. Can I ask you something, Alexei?”

“ _Da_ , of course,” he said, looking up from his hands again. “Anything.”

“I didn’t want the press conference getting out of hand, but I need to know… are you dating Parson?”

“I would not be keeping that from you, George,” he said, looking mournful. “I do this so I’m not have secrets anymore. Why I keep most important thing quiet?”

“I believe you Tater-tot, I promise,” George said. “I just needed to check. The press is going to run with this, I think. I know you did your best to stop them,” she said at his look. “they’re going to write what they want to. Nothing we try is going to help much. But we’ve got your back, big guy, all right? Falconers are family.”

“You all _are_ family, thank you,” he said, smiling a bit. Maybe if he stopped focusing on what the reporters had asked and kept thinking about the people who loved him, this would be easier.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Time was strange. Alexei felt like it took him ages to pack up and get a taxi home, but when he took his watch off and placed it on the table in his front hall, he checked the time and saw that it had barely been half an hour. He sloughed off his shoes by the door and threw his dirty clothes in the hamper, pulling on a clean pair of boxers and a white singlet. He fell onto the couch, smiling softly as he felt his cat wind around his ankles.

“Привет, Катуа. Did you miss me?”

She pushed her head against his big hands and he obliged, petting her and scratching her ears. He often wished he had a partner to come home to every night, but he did love this sweet cat. He had gone to the shelter two years ago with Snowy to help his goalie pick out a dog. They’d arrived, and the calico hadn’t stopped winding around his legs. One look at her sweet face staring up at him like he hung the moon and he was in love. She’d come home with him that day, and every day he loved her more. Even when she climbed all over his face at five o’clock in the morning.

Alexei was so lost in the memory that he didn’t hear his phone the first time, jumping slightly as he felt the insistent vibration with the tone.

“Okay, okay. I answering. Hold horses, I’m checking.” He scrolled through the apps, eyebrows raising when he saw the notifications were for private messages on twitter.

 

**DM from @realkvparse                            10:47 pm**

                congrats on the announcement. it was probably tough. proud of you man!

 

**DM from @realkvparse                            10:52 pm**

                sorry if i stole the spotlight. didn’t know you were planning anything.

 

**DM from @realkvparse                            11:21pm**

                idek if you’ve checked the mags yet but they’re all convinced that we’re the couple of the year. maybe i should shake your hand before we vacation in maui?

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

What on earth had possessed him to send that last one to Mashkov??? Kent had come right home after the presser, and since he knew he didn’t have practice tomorrow, somehow vodka from his freezer had found its way into his system. That was it. It had to be the vodka’s fault. Not the blush on his cheeks and the funny swoop in his stomach that he’d felt every time he watched the clip of Alexei “Tater” Mashkov calling him cute. God, that nickname. He’d never met the guy, there was no need to call him a nickname.

But Mashkov had called him cute… and then handsome in the same breath. Yeah, he’d looked on YouTube and there were longer clips. He’d… said some very nice things.

And now Kent was sending the guy flirty twitter messages. What the hell was wrong with him?

Kent heard his twitter ding and groaned. He fully expected a notification that Mashkov was blocking him and he would have to explain the situation to Fred.

 

**DM from @a91mashkov                          11:26 pm**

                You are asking me to fly to Hawaii? Maybe we start with dinner HAHA

 

How even? Was Mashkov just screwing with him, or was the big guy seriously asking him out? Kent’s fingers hovered over the screen. He had to respond… he couldn’t leave Mashkov hanging like that, especially when he absolutely could have blown Kent off.

 

**DM from @realkvparse                            11:34 pm**

                dinner is good. i like food. your city or mine?

 

Oh my god. Was he back in high school? _I like food_. Kent was beyond sure that this was The Dumbest Thing He Possibly Could Have Said Ever. He got up from the couch to get ready for bed, positive that he would never hear from Mashkov again.

Fifteen minutes later, after brushing his teeth and refilling Kit’s water bowl, Kent threw himself into bed, only checking his phone out of habit. When he saw the responding message, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be offended on behalf of his city.

 

**DM from @a91mashkov                          11:36 pm**

Season almost over. Maybe you come out here? Providence is real city, Vegas is only sand HAHA

 

Mashkov had responded right away. Had he been waiting? Or was it just by his hand? He hadn’t been lying when he’d told the press that Mashkov was good-looking. It was true. And Kent was pretty sure the guy could break him in half if he wanted… which was definitely a thought he would explore later, when his hands weren’t so tired.

If this turned into something, Kent would have to make sure that the big Russian didn’t get any ideas about getting attached. Kent didn’t do that. Not anymore. But as long as they were on the same page about this… this could be fun.

 

**DM from @realkvparse                            11:54 pm**

                fine by me. but if your ‘city’ is so awesome i’d better get a grand tour. text me dates that work, we’ll figure it out. 702-555-5368.

 

**DM from @a91mashkov                          11:59 pm**

                Can’t wait!!! )))))))))))))))))))))))

 

If anyone asked him about it later, Kent would never have admitted the giant grin on his face as he fell asleep that night. As it was, Kit was the only one there to witness it and judge him. But Kent didn’t care.

* * *

 


	3. With Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent does in fact fly out to Providence. And keeps flying out. And flying out. Tater occasionally flies out to Vegas too. Okay, more than occasionally.

* * *

Kent wasn’t exactly sure how he had managed to get to this point in his life. He had just gotten off a plane to spend three days with someone he’d never actually met in person. Kit was fine at home with her automatic food and water timers. This wasn’t serious, it like he and Mashkov were _dating_. There was no need to send her to a boarder. He didn’t have any checked bags either. This wasn’t an extended vacation or some dumb romantic getaway.

He wasn’t worried about spotting Mashkov at the arrivals gate. The man was so damn tall, he’d stand out in any crowd. Kent had tried to tell Mashkov that picking him up wasn’t necessary, but the Russian had just laughed. “Mamochka, my mama, she box my ears if she hear that I make a guest find their own way in new city!”

Kent smiled at the thought of Mashkov’s mother still being able to scold him, and was sure the other man was chirping him. Especially if she was as short as she looked in Mashkov’s twitter albums. Not that Kent has really been looking too closely. No. Just trying to see what the hell he might be getting himself into this weekend.

Apparently, he hadn’t looked hard enough, because even though he’d worked out that Mashkov liked to have fun, Kent certainly hadn’t expected the giant to be standing at the bottom of the escalator with a giant colored sign stating,

 

**“FOR MR. KENNY P., VISITOR FROM DESERT”**

 

Kent sincerely hoped that there weren’t any reporters here to recognize them. They would have a field day, and he and Mashkov would have an even harder time quashing the rumors. In the month since they’d come out, no less than nineteen separate new sites had done an article on them. Plus six print papers.

Laughing at the sign despite himself, Kent grinned at Mashkov’s huge wave. “’Sup, big guy?”

Jeez. Just shoot him now. Did he really just say ‘sup’ like it was 2003? Ugh. What was happening to him?

“Hello, Little Ace! Is good to finally meet you!” and before Kent could protest at being called ‘little’, Mashkov wrapped two enormous – God, how long were his limbs anyway – arms around Kent and lifted him and his luggage clean off the ground in a bear hug.

“Oof! I was better before you crushed my ribs Mashkov,” Kent managed to squeeze out, and suddenly he was on the ground again.

“I’m so sorry! I’m not mean to hurt you Kenny, I’m sorry.”

And now Mashkov’s eyes were huge and sad, and those big hands were tenderly holding his shoulders, checking him over for injuries. Mashkov should never look this sad. It wasn’t right. Kent had to fix it. “I was kidding, okay? I’m fine.” Mashkov still looked worried. “I promise,” Kent added.

It took another second, but Mashkov brightened. “If you are sure. I know I am big. Sometimes too big, I am thinking,” he added, shoulders seeming to shrink before Kent’s very eyes.

“Nah. You’re fine, Mashkov. Really. I uh… I like how big you are.” Oh my god, did he really just say that? Kent picked up his bag again, hoping he wasn’t blushing as much as he thought he was.

“Aww, thanks,” Mashkov said, straightening up and giving Kent a shy smile that was, frankly, fucking _adorable_. “You are good size too, I’m think. Perfect for cuddles, _da_?”

Did… did he just…

Mashkov stopped, looking a bit sheepish, and – was he blushing?

“Sorry if that too much. I… way we are talking these few weeks, and messages you send… I do think you are handsome, Kenny. And very funny. I- I am not knowing right words exactly, or if I say this right… but I’m want to go out with you? On date. Maybe –” and oh God, Mashkov was definitely blushing now – “maybe other things too?”

Kent’s mouth suddenly went very dry. Before he could get any words out around the sandpaper in his throat, Mashkov continued.

“Is okay if you not want that. I am grown up, I can take hint. This just be friend visit, is okay.” And he was smiling again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were definitely sad.

If Kent didn’t say something right now, then this could absolutely just be a friend thing. That would be okay. But, if he said something, then maybe Mashkov would stop looking so sad. Kent realized he didn’t like it when Mashkov was sad.

“Dude, no,” and Kent knew that this might be a bad idea, but honestly right now he didn’t care. “I wasn’t trying to say anything like that. I’m –” he swallowed, mouth dry again, “I’m _definitely_ down for more. I uh… that’s… kind of why I came. Y’know. If that’s okay.”

And there was that smile again. Jesus, it was bright enough to power a small city. Kent could get used to seeing that smile, and being the one who put it there.

Mashkov threw a long arm around Kent’s shoulders as they walked to the car, looking for all the world like a couple of bros hanging out. Except the tips of Mashkov’s fingers were lightly brushing against Kent’s throat, making his breath catch in his chest. “Is definitely okay, Kenny,” Mashkov said, his voice lower than Kent had heard it so far. “Is best news I get all week.”

Oh yeah. This was definitely a good idea.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

True to Kent’s challenge, Mashkov had taken him all over the city. The Providence Duck Tour, Mashkov’s favorite diner that made the best doughnuts in the city (predictably across the street from a police station), and a truly spectacular seafood place for dinner. There were even options on the menu that wouldn’t make his nutritionist want to strangle him. On the walk back to Mashkov’s apartment, he kept pointing out little things about the city or the path they were talking, showing Kent just how well he knew the city. Kent sighed. It had actually been a really fun day. And damn, could Mashkov _talk_. But that meant that Kent got to keep hearing his accent, which was getting sexier by the minute. He imagined hearing Mashkov speak to him in Russian, in bed, and he shivered.

“What’s wrong Kenny? You okay?” Mashkov asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “If you are cold, maybe we go back to my apartment for warm up.”

It sounded very innocent to anyone who might have been listening. Anyone except Kent. He could see the little smirk in the dark, and he could feel the way Mashkov’s arm tightened around his shoulder.

“You know, it is pretty chilly out here for June,” Kent said, letting a smirk slide onto his own face. “I think you’ve got the right idea.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened even more. “Trust me Kenny, I’m save best ideas for later.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

“Kenny, you sure you want to do this?” Mashkov’s voice was so soft, so gentle.

“Yeah, Mashkov, I’m sure.”

“Alexei,” the big man whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow behind Kent’s jaw, making him shiver at the accent. Seeing the Russian name in print and hearing it from his lips were completely different experiences. Kent definitely preferred the latter. “Call me Alexei. Or Tater, everyone call me this.”

Kent almost snorted. “And you let them?”

“Is tiny potatoes,” Mashkov – Alexei – said, pouting adorably. “Is funny, because I am so big, _da_?”

Kent smirked. “I think I’ll stick with Alexei.” He kissed him, hungry and needy, then remembered that he needed to say something. Kent told everyone he slept with, but it was important this time, more important than ever. “You should know,” he said, “I- I don’t do relationships, Alexei. That doesn’t mean we can’t do this,” he said, rolling his hips and humming in satisfaction when he heard the answering moan. “Just, with hockey and everything… and y’know. It’s just how I do things. If that’s okay with you…” He trailed off, trying not to think about how disappointed he would be if Alexei didn’t want to just keep it casual.

Alexei smiled though, running his big hands up and down Kent’s arms. “Is okay Kenny, I’m understand. We’re not serious… but we still have fun, yes?”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Oh man. They’d had fun all right. More than once over Kent’s three-day stay in Providence. The sex was amazing, but the cuddling after was new. Alexei was right, Kent was the perfect size to cuddle under his arms, snuggled against his broad chest. This may have been new, but it was a good new. Mostly because Alexei was big and warm and it was nice to feel wanted.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

So nice that Kent flew to Providence more than once. A lot more than once. He wasn’t sure now how many times it was exactly. A part of him didn’t want to know. He knew he liked having sex with Alexei… but he liked just spending time with him too. Which was weird. Different. But questioning things is how good things went bad, and Kent liked that this was a good thing. You didn’t look too closely at good things if you wanted to keep doing them.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Mondays and Thursdays became skype days. They weren’t dates. He wasn’t dating Tater. Kent didn’t do that. And he had been really up front since the very first time. They weren’t dating.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

It was late July by the time Tater came out to visit Las Vegas. “My turn to fly,” he said. Kent let him. It wasn’t just because he wanted to see Tater. Kent couldn’t let the comment that Vegas was only sand go unchallenged. If Tater wanted to keep flying out here to see Kent, then Kent wasn’t going to stop him. It was nice.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Of course, Jack noticed. Over the last year, and especially this last summer, Kent had spent so much time in Providence that seeing each other was unavoidable. They’d gotten a lot better at dealing with each other, especially in the last four months. Kent liked being back on speaking terms with his best friend, but fuck. There were a lot of things he’d be willing to do and a lot of apologies he’d be willing to make just for continued access to Bittle’s pie. That shit was legit. Especially the key lime.

* * *

 


	4. The "L" Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a skype non-date, Kent almost says something... and realizes just how deep he is in this thing.

* * *

“So. You and Tater.”

“I still can’t believe he lets you guys call him that.”

“He likes it.”

“So I’ve noticed. You’d better be glad he does, he could take you apart if you ever made him angry.”

“You would know about him taking people apart, I guess.”

“Did Jack Zimmermann just make a dirty joke? Call the papers, I demand space on page fucking one.”

“Haha, Kent. Seriously, I’m glad you guys are spending time together. He’s happy.”

“Thanks, Zimms. It’s not serious though, we’re just… you know. It’s not like it’s a real relationship.”

“You both fly cross-country twice a month.”

“So would you if the sex was that good. Bittle lives close enough that you don’t have to rack up the frequent flyer miles.”

“You skype as often as we do.”

“He’s pretty to look at.”

“Your cats are friends. In real life and on Instagram.”

“If you’re gonna talk shit about my cat, Zimms, our friendship really will be over.”

“Sorry. Kit’s adorable.”

“Damn fucking straight she is.”

“I saw the posts with the ‘American Tail’ costumes. Nice.”

“Tater thought that was so great. Russian mice in New York. I think it’s his new favorite movie. He said it was representing both of us. The pics were his idea. Now he wants to go as Feivel for Halloween next month.”

“Are you flying here for that?”

“Maybe. I’d kill to see him in that costume.”

“Okay, Kent. Just… whatever you two are calling this, make sure you’re on the same page.”

“He knows. I’ve said from the beginning, I don’t do relationships.”

“I know, Kent. Just… whatever this started as, and whatever you are now… I know you. And him. And I care about both of you. I just want both of you to be happy.”

“Sure, man. It’s not like he’s my fucking boyfriend though, Zimms. We’re not a couple. I know you’re practically married to Eric, and I’m really happy it’s working out. For reals, I am. But it’s not for everyone, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

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_a91mashkov is _ **online** _ !_

 

“I can’t believe Katya’s picture got more hits than Kit,” Kent laughed. “Or that she has twice as many followers!”

“Clearly she is two times as cute as Kit then,” Tater grinned.

“Hey,” Kent said, holding a hand over his heart, “now how could you say such things?”

“Is very sorry Kenny,” Tater said, and he looked it. “She is very pretty kitty. But her owner is more pretty still.” Tater made a heart with his hands and blew a kiss at the screen.

Kent knew he was smiling like an idiot. Tater was always saying things like that, but they never got old.

“If you are here Kenny, I kiss pout off face.”

Kent bit his lip, thinking about Tater doing just that, and kissing a few other things besides.

“I might bite lip for you too.”

“Jesus, Tater. Just make me buy a plane ticket, why don’t you.”

“No plans for me this weekend,” he replied, arching an eyebrow. “Except maybe new restaurant with Thai food. No game ‘til Wednesday.”

“I thought you guys played on Sunday?” Kent had already checked. He did have the weekend free, but there was no point in flying out if Tater had a game. “Alyosha,” he said, when the other man grew silent, a sheepish look on his face. “You told me that was just a strained muscle.” Still nothing. “Alexei, if you don’t tell me, I swear I’m gonna tell Hawks and Smithy about your secret pop-tart stash.”

“Leave my nutritionists out of this please,” Tater mumbled, going pink. “I’m okay, I promise. Ankle is maybe little worse than I am saying before. Coach just wants me to rest one game. For safety, nothing else.”

Kent sighed. “Okay. Don’t scare me like that okay, пюре? I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.”

“Whatever you say, котенок. If you want, we spend extra time cuddling. If you are here, you help me listen to doctor.”

Kent grinned, fiddling with his phone for a minute before smiling up at Tater. “Just booked the tickets. I’ll fly out tomorrow, stay through to Thursday.”

“You stay for game?” Tater looked hopeful, and happy. Kent liked that look on his face.

“Yeah. It’ll make for a nice change from watching you over the big screen here. Besides, I need to make sure that ankle is really healed. I’m gonna worry about you otherwise.”

“Aww Kenny,” Tater said, his eyes soft. “Thank you. Is very sweet.”

“Come on пюре, of course I worry about you, I lo–” Kent stopped dead. He couldn’t have been about to say that. This was a god damn _fling_ , he had not been about to tell Tater that he fucking _loved_ him.

Except he had been. He had been about to say exactly that. _“Come on_ _пюре_ _, of course I worry about you, I love you.”_

Jesus.

What the hell was wrong with him? How had he let this happen? He’d told Tater, they’d agreed, this wasn’t serious. They were just screwing around. And here he was, falling in love like a fucking child.

Tater was staring at him. Shit.

“Kenny, you are okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” What if Tater found out? No. he couldn’t be in love. He didn’t fall in love like normal people. Hadn’t everyone always told him that? “I’m fine.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure Tater or himself.

And then Tater smiled at him, soft, so soft. Such a tender smile. It was okay to feel like this when Tater smiled at him like that, _anyone_ would feel like this if Tater smiled that god damn smile at them like that.

“I worry about you too, Kenny.”

Shit. Shit shit _shit_. What if Tater looked at him like that because _he_ was in love? Kent could much more readily believe that Tater was the sort of person who fell in love. Tater loved everyone, was so sweet to everyone. Tater who always had room in his heart for every single person he met. But they’d always agreed about this – nothing serious.

Jack’s voice came into his head. _You and Tater… you guys skype more than me and Bitty… you fly out here twice a month…_ Kent shook his head. Maybe he should pull back a little. After this trip… he did want to see Tater, and watch him play. “You don’t need to worry, big guy. I’m okay. Worrying’s what I’ve got my mom for. I swear, every time I take a hit, she’s on the phone, ready to fly out here,” Kent said, trying to steer the conversation away from wherever it was heading.

“Speaking of mamas,” Tater said, “mine is coming to game. She is bringing Babushka too,” he laughed. “Her mama. We promise to get her foam finger.” The fond smile was back on his face, and Kent breathed a sigh of relief. So at least Tater looked like that for other people besides him.

Wait, now he looked like he was nervous. He never looked like that unless, “Tater, what do you want?”

“Why you think I –”

“Come on, Alyosha, I know that face.”

The answering smile was sheepish. “Okay, you got me. Mamochka is wanting to meet you,” he said very quietly. “I tell her all about you, that you are smart and funny. How much fun we have.”

Kent snorted. “I hope you didn’t tell her exactly how we have fun.”

Tater grinned and blushed, which was partly why Kent had said that. “No, course not. I tell her I’m happy when we are together. She keep asking why I fly to desert so much.”

He was telling his mother that Kent made him _happy_. Fuck.

He couldn’t – this wasn’t – No. this was meeting families, this was couples’ shit. He wasn’t doing this. This was how people got fucking _hurt_ dammit, he was _not_ doing this. How could Tater spring this on him, out of nowhere? Not out of nowhere though, not really. Jack was right. They really had been doing tons of couples’ shit. He had to stop this, and stop it right the fuck now. He started reaching up to close the laptop, but then he heard Tater’s voice break through his thoughts.

“Kenny… you acting funny. Looking worried. I say something wrong?”

God, Tater’s eyes could get huge. Kent bit his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid. And he couldn’t just walk away with no explanation. True, they’d been teenagers when Zimms had done that to him, but it had _hurt_. And Kent knew he didn’t want to do that to Tater.

“No ‘yosha,” he said, trying to soothe the worry in the Russian’s face. “I’m just tired. Long day, y’know? And I gotta be up early,” he added. “I’ve got a flight to catch.” He would still go out there. He’d tell Tater in person. Tell him that whatever the hell this thing between then was, it wasn’t going to be a thing anymore. Tell him that no matter how much he enjoyed the skype chats and the lazy breakfasts, and the cuddles in the morning, how Tater wrapped himself around Kent to keep his котенок from getting cold, how amazing it felt to have Tater look at him like that… that none of it would be happening anymore.

Which made it harder to watch Tater’s face break into a grin as he looked at Kent like he hung the fucking moon. “Can hardly wait to see you, Kenny. And for you to meet Mamochka,” he added. “Babushka, she probably hug you and make you food. She does for everyone. She will want to fatten you up,” he laughed.

Kent latched onto this image of Tater, happy and laughing, and tried not to think of the look on his face when he had to tell his family they wouldn’t be meeting Kent after all. He forced himself to smile. “Go to sleep then. It’ll make tomorrow come faster.”

“Okay Kenny. Whatever you say. I rest up for tomorrow.” He blew another kiss at the screen. “Night night!”

Kent smiled, and if it was a bit sad, Tater didn’t notice. “Night night, Alyosha. Sleep well.” Kent disconnected the call before he wiped his face angrily. He would not cry over this. This was not a god damn relationship. He just didn’t want Tater to see that.

He pulled up his flight confirmation, glad that it was still in the twenty-four hour booking window. Instead of returning to Nevada on Thursday afternoon, he rescheduled the return for Sunday morning. Now he’d only be there for Saturday… but that was good. Better, he thought. Once he told Tater that they weren’t going to see each other anymore he knew that it would be a dick move to keep hanging around.

He told himself this was the reason he would leave early. Not because Tater might not _want_ him around anymore.

* * *

 

 


	5. Not Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jack can go from 0-110 real quick, then Kent can absolutely hit the brakes that hard too.

* * *

"KENNY!"

Tater's shout was so loud that several people in the airport turned their heads. Kent knew a few of them probably recognized the hockey players, this was Tater's town after all... but he wasn't going to let himself get distracted right now. He was going to focus on Tater's arms around him. It was such a nice feeling, and after this weekend, he wouldn't be feeling it anymore.

Oh well. He could always get someone else to hold him. It wasn't like Tater – Mashkov, he would be ‘Mashkov’ again – was the only guy out there who knew how to cuddle.

Still, Kent let himself get scooped up by Tater's giant arms. No reason to make a scene here, or to tell Tater now. His flight didn't leave until 11:00 am tomorrow. "Good to see you too, Alyosha," he managed to get out. He wouldn't miss having the breath squeezed out of him. He wouldn't.

Tater didn't notice Kent's hesitation, or if he did, he must have attributed it to Kent being tired, because he just kept smiling that god damn bright-as-sunlight smile. When they got to the car, and Kent's bag was safely in the trunk, Tater leaned across the front seat, taking Kent's face in his hands, large thumbs gently stroking his cheeks before he pressed a tender kiss to Kent's lips.

Kent almost let himself lean in, almost let himself get lost in the kiss. No. He couldn’t. This wasn't his boyfriend. He didn't have a boyfriend. He _didn't do this_. It was just a fling. It was just a kiss. An excellent kiss that was already making his toes curl. But it was just a kiss.

Now he leaned forward, taking the kiss from tender to desperate as he tangled his fingers in Tater's dark curls. With his other hand grabbing a fistful of Tater's shirt, Kent could feel the deep rumble of laughter in the Russian's chest.

"Patience, котенок, we have time."

"Mmm," Kent whined at the loss of contact, knowing that they had much less time than Tater thought. "Let's get back to your place then, he purred, hoping they could get back to Tater's bed and Kent could remind himself that this was absolutely not a relationship by keeping this visit about the sex.

"But then we lose reservation," Tater pouted. "I find place with Russian food, borscht almost as good as Mamochka's. I'm excited to share with you," he said. "I'm love finding things for share with you," he added, cheeks flushing the lightest pink.

With a Herculean effort, Kent resisted the urge to kiss Tater's blushing face, and smirked instead. "Anything's gotta be better than that thing you made last time."

"Hey," Tater held a hand to his heart, sounding wounded, but his eyes were twinkling. "Not my fault you all using different number system in American kitchens. Beside, if I do not make mess, we are not finding all-night diner with your favorite banana pancakes."

Kent acknowledged this with a grin. "They were good pancakes, okay," he said. "At least now I'll know what Russian food is supposed to taste like."

"Haha, I not tell Mamochka you say that. Her cooking what Russian food supposed to taste like. I am sure she want to be cooking for you before visit is over," Tater said, the soft smile coming back to his face as he thought about his family.

Kent sighed. Mama Mashkov would probably never cook for him. But Tater was so happy right now, and Kent couldn't bear to wipe the smile from his face just yet. For now, he'd just focus on the food, and hearing Tater's mile-a-minute chatter wash over him.

 

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Tater was laid out on his many pillows, half covered in a sheet, half covered by Kent. He was running his fingers thorough Kent’s hair, humming softly. It was nice to just be held like this… he knew Kenny had said at the beginning that he didn’t want a relationship. No strings. And he had tried so hard to give Kenny what he’d asked for. It had been so hard… Alexei didn’t usually do ‘no strings’.

But the weeks has turned into months, and Kenny had kept coming to visit. He kept smiling when Alexei called him nicknames or taught him more Russian words. _Hello. Katya. Mashed potatoes. Kitten_. And then, Kenny asked _him_ to come visit. And Kenny’s reminders that this was just a fling had been fewer and fewer… until they had stopped completely.

They texted each other almost every day. They told each other hopes and dreams and fears and secrets. Kenny’s face was the last thing he thought of every night, and he woke up smiling when he thought about the way Kenny said his name. True, he hadn’t meant to feel like this. But he did. And the way Kenny looked at him… he was pretty sure Kenny felt that way too.

When they’d been skyping last night, Alexei thought he knew what Kent almost said. It had taken everything he’d had not to say it back, to shout from the rooftops that he loved Kenny too… he loved him so much and he knew it… but he didn’t want to scare the other man.

Alexei knew he felt things so much, sometimes so much that they hurt. But everything that had happened in the last six and a half months… god, where had the time gone… convinced him that Kenny felt the same way he did. One word from him yesterday, and Kenny had flown three thousand miles, just to be here in his arms! Alexei squeezed the smaller man close, loving how he just _fit_. Soft laughter rumbled in his chest when the blond snuggled closer. “мой котенок,” he whispered, softly kissing Kent’s temple. It was nowhere near the first, or even the hundredth, time he had called Kenny his kitten, and Kenny knew exactly what the words meant, so Alexei was surprised when Kenny sat up, biting his lip and looking uncomfortable.

“What is wrong, Kenny? Something you need? How I can help?”

Kent’s eyebrows drew together, and he looked halfway between pained and annoyed. Alexei stroked his bare arm softly, but Kent shrugged, knocking Alexei’s hand away.

“You know I’m not yours,” Kent said, his dark eyes fixed firmly on a corner of the pillowcase. “Right?”

“What? Kenny, what you—”

“I’m not yours. Not your Kenny, not your little kitten – this isn’t a real relationship Mashkov – it never was. I know I told you that,” he added, his eyes still on the pillowcase.

“ _Da_ ,” Alexei said slowly, his brain in shock, trying to reconcile the words Kenny – Kent – was saying with what they had just done, together. “I know you say this before… you – you are saying no more nicknames?” he asked, trying to work out where this was coming from so he could fix it and they could go back to cuddling.

“It’s not the nicknames, Mashkov,” Kent said, a bite in his voice now that made Alexei flinch. Kenny hadn’t called him ‘Mashkov’ in months. “Whatever I do wrong, Kenny,” he bit his lip, “sorry… Kent. Whatever I do wrong, I’m sorry. We can fix, yes? _I_ can fix.” They could. All Kenny had to do was tell him, he would do anything.

“There’s nothing _to_ fix, don’t you get it? Couples fix things. We’re not a couple. We never were. None of this –” he finally looked up and Alexei gasped at the accusation in his gaze, “was ever real. It was good sex,” Kent said as an afterthought. “I wouldn’t have kept flying out here if it wasn’t. But that’s all it ever was.”

Alexei was reeling, but Kent’s next words were like a punch to his gut.

“And I think it’s time it stopped.”

Alexei tried to form words around the lump in his throat. They had just been together… just made love… and Kenny decided to say this now? It was okay though… maybe he could still try to make it okay…

“Kenny… _Kent_ , I’m sorry… is okay though, I promise- I can do friend-with-benefits… is okay with me, really I –”

“Jesus Mashkov, no you fucking can’t, okay? You’re talking about meeting your mom, for fuck’s sake.” Kent was almost snarling now. “That sound like ‘friends with benies” to you? Or did you just not learn that one right?”

It was like he’d been slapped. Kent had never made fun of his English before, never. Alexei could feel his lungs trying to breathe, but there wasn’t enough _air_ in here –

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like you couldn’t see this one coming.” Kent sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m flying back to Vegas tomorrow, at eleven. I uh… I think we should just… you know. Not,” he waved his hands, “anymore. Please stop looking at me like that.”

Alexei swallowed hard, forcing what he hoped was a neutral expression back onto his face. “I’m sorry. For asking about my Mamochka. For nicknames…” he trailed off at the look of Kent’s face. “Please believe, Kenny… I am never mean to hurt you, or do this wrong.” He sighed when Kent didn’t respond, forcing himself to breathe and not to cry. After all, Kenny was right. He had said from the beginning, this was not a relationship. Even though the last few months had certainly felt like one. He _knew_ they had been growing toward something more. He hadn’t imagined that. He _knew_ he hadn’t.

Nodding, he stood. “I need some water. You stay,” he said softly. “Get rest. You have flight tomorrow. I take you for breakfast… then to airport. Is… is okay,” he whispered softly as Kent nodded back, rolling over and facing away from him. “Everything will be okay.”

Pulling on his underwear from where they’d landed on the floor, he stumbled out to his living room, heading for the couch before changing his mind and stepping out onto the balcony. There had to be air out there. His head was spinning as he slid down the wall into a heap, his arms around his knees as he tried to hold himself together. His head fell to his knees as the tears slipped down his cheeks. This could not really be happening… sometimes people said things they didn’t mean… they could fix it, they could work this out. Everything would be okay…

Wouldn’t it?

* * *

 


	6. Even Pancakes Can't Fix This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater hopes that maybe last night was a misunderstanding... but when things go from bad to worse, he needs a friend to help him through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who needs this information, towards the end of this chapter, Kent says some really awful things and pushes Tater into a panic attack. (They will be addressed later, but at this moment in time, it's a rough day for our Russian.)

* * *

Bright. It was too bright. Why was it so bright? It was never this bright in his room, he had window shades in there…

Tater woke with a start, realizing that he wasn’t in his room. He didn’t sleep in his room. Kenny was in his room. If Kenny was in his room, why was he on his balcony? Tater shivered, then noticed he was only in his underwear. He was deeply grateful that the rising sun had woken him this early; hopefully no one had seen him.

Thinking of his warm bed, Tater quickly slid back inside, trying to remember why he had slept on the balcony. Had they been out drinking? Kenny liked to drink, and he had laughed and laughed when he’d figured out that Tater’s ‘legendary’ alcohol tolerance was nowhere near legendary at all.

 

_Tater had blushed furiously when he explained that, contrary to popular belief, he never really drank when he’d lived in Russia. Too many commitments, family to look after. And he’d worked so hard to avoid the drugs and steroids from his old coaches, so that he could come to America and play hockey here. He’d explained that he’d simply never bothered to correct everyone’s assumptions that he drank vodka like water… mostly because it meant that his teammates let him nurse a single drink all night long so he wouldn’t ‘embarrass them’ by drinking them all under the table._

_Kent hadn’t believed him… until he’d seen Tater drink only two beers, and learned that Tater was a very cuddly, very honest drunk. He had insisted on counting the freckles on Kent’s nose, and giving him kisses and hugs for each one._

_“You are kissed by angel, Kenny… I need to be making sure you are forgetting angel and only wanting my kisses.”_

_“But I’m being kissed by an angel right now.”_

_“Only one kissing you now is – oh, Kenny, you are so sweet to me!” There had been many, many more kisses after that._

Tater smiled at the memory, trying to remember if there’d been alcohol involved last night. He moved toward the kitchen to get some breakfast sorted and promptly tripped over Kenny’s suitcase.

His still-packed suitcase. Why hadn’t he –

Oh.

Tater felt his stomach drop to his feet as he remembered why Kenny hadn’t unpacked. He hadn’t unpacked because he was leaving. He was leaving and he wasn’t coming back.

Kenny didn’t want to see him again.

Suddenly, Tater had no energy left to eat breakfast, much less make it.

A quick look at the microwave told him that it was just after seven, and that Kent would need to wake up soon. If Kenny didn’t eat before he got on the plane, he would get a headache and be cranky the rest of the day. Tater didn’t want Kenny to go home and be miserable.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ 

 

It was normally hard to wake Kent up in the morning, and today it was nearly impossible. Tater saw the freckles dusting his nose and the untidy mop of blond hair, and was hit with how much he loved this man, and just as hard, he was hit with the realization that Kent didn’t want him to.

Instead of kissing him awake, Tater reached out and gently shook his shoulder. “Kenny… please Kenny… you –” his voice broke, “you have flight in few hours. You need food.”

Kent peeked an eye open. “You need pants then.” His jaw cracked with the force of his yawn. “Unless you’re cooking?”

“No, not want you to have bad last breakfast. Thought… thought we could go to diner.” Tater had originally planned breakfast in bed, but he wasn’t sure if he would trust himself around fire or hot pans right now. “Banana pancakes, Kenny. Your favorite.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ 

 

After two cups of coffee, Kent looked more human and was hungrily shoveling in as many bites of banana pancakes as he could. Their waiter, a sweet guy named Sam, had tried several times to get Tater a bigger breakfast than toast, but the Russian was barely eating that.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more food, Mr. Tater? You usually have way more than that,” Sam asked, refilling their coffees and frowning slightly when he saw that Tater hadn’t had much of that either.

“Is okay Sammy,” Tater sighed, knowing that the side dish of toast was much smaller than the pancakes and eggs and bacon and biscuits he usually put away here. “I’m not very hungry today, is all.”

“You’d better not be getting sick on me, Tater,” Sam said, shaking a finger at the big hockey player.

“No, no. Just tired I’m think. I’m not sleep well.” Tater tried not to look at Kent when he said this, but he couldn’t help noticing that during this exchange, Kent hadn’t slowed down on his pancakes one bit.

Tater looked up, surprised to feel Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“You take care of yourself, okay? We’d miss you around here if you got sick. And not just because you keep us in business,” Sam added, smiling softly.

“Thank you, Sammy Sam. I’ll remember.” Tater sighed as Sam went to bring the check. There was one person who liked having him around. Maybe what Kenny had said last night… maybe he didn’t mean it? Or maybe it was just something he needed to get out of his system? Sometimes his cousin Sergei was like that and said cruel things he didn’t mean. Maybe Kenny was feeling the same way?

“I’m done,” Kent said, his flat voice breaking into Tater’s thoughts. “I’d better call a cab if I want to get to the airport on time.”

Did Kent really think that he would need a taxi? “I can take you, Kenny.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to,” Kent shrugged. “But it saves me cab fare. Thanks.”

Shoving aside this fresh wave of hurt, Tater said, “I’m want to help. I can help, so I should. Is how I was taught growing up.”

“Whatever.” Kent huffed. “We should go then.” He stood up and, without waiting, went out to the parking lot. Tater sighed. It looked like Kenny was sticking to what he said. In the last few hours, Tater hadn’t seen even a glimpse of _his_ Kenny. The one who was flirty and cuddly. Who loved to laugh and ask Tater about his family, who couldn’t sit at a table with him unless their feet were touching underneath. Who called him ‘Tater’ and ‘Alyosha’.

What he wouldn’t give to hear that name come out of Kent’s mouth right now. He would forgive everything, forget all of it, forever… if his Kenny smiled at him one more time, and, “Привет, Алёша!” came spilling out of the grin that was too big for his face.

Tater jumped as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Smiling when he saw that Kent had texted him, Tater felt his eyes welling up. Maybe the hurt really was over now?

 

**Kenny: WTF man. i thought u were driving me**

**T: I am. Sorry. Just waiting for check. Be right out.**

**Kenny: don’t bother**

**T: what? Now I am confused. Thought you needed ride?**

**Kenny: i did. but ur doing whatever inside. called a cab**

 

One second, Tater could feel his heart thudding heavily inside his chest, the next it was like it was gone. He wasn’t sure how he managed to get out of the booth so fast, but he was glad he managed it. Throwing a twenty on the table for Sam, he ran out of the diner to stop Kent. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it or what he would say, but he was going to stop him from getting into that taxi.

He had time, Kenny had just called, it was okay… No. No, how had the taxi gotten here _already_ , why was Kenny putting his suitcase inside? No Kenny, _no­-_

“Oh my god Mashkov, just stop it, okay?”

“I –”

“No, this isn’t some fucking rom-com! Stop chasing me like I’m your goddamn _soulmate_ or something! We used to chill and we used to fuck, and now we don’t! Get the hell over it! I fucking _knew_ you’d be like this, that’s why I got a cab over breakfast,” he snarled.

“Kenny, please.” Tater knew he was begging but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let Kenny leave. “I’m take you because I’m just want to be nice. Just because we’re not dating anymore, is no reason not to be nice.”

“What do I have to say to get it through that thick Russian skull of yours? We were never dating, Mashkov! You were a distraction for the off-season, but now you’re worse than the fucking puck bunnies. Take a god damn _hint_ , you idiot!”

There was a buzzing in Alexei’s ears, and a weight around his chest as he watched Kent slam the trunk on his bag and climb into the taxi. The words were swirling around and around in his head, suffocating him and he couldn’t think – couldn’t _breathe_ – couldn’t _move_ – his legs felt like jelly and it was taking so much effort to keep standing… he couldn’t do it anymore. Why did he need to keep standing? The only person here with him had just left him alone.

He wanted his mother. He wanted her to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t get enough air to breathe properly… how could he call her?

Text. That’s what Zimmboni did when he felt shaky and wobbly and everything was too much, wasn’t it? Alexei pulled his phone out, trying to make it work, but his vision was blurry. He couldn’t see the buttons or the screen properly. He swiped at his eyes and his hand came away wet with tears.

He cried out wordlessly in utter frustration and helplessness, not knowing what he was supposed to do now, wrapping his arms around himself in a feeble effort to hold himself together. Alexei didn’t hear the footsteps behind him and nearly fell over in shock when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry Tater, I didn’t mean to- oh sweetie, are you okay?”

It was Sam. Alexei wanted to reassure him, to promise that he wouldn’t be a bother, not to anyone else, but Sam – bless Sam – knelt down next to him – when had he fallen over? – and put a very comforting arm around his shoulders. “Shh… it’s okay, everything’s gonna be –”

“нет, нет,” Alexei shook his head, trying to take in enough air so he could tell Sam that he needed his mother. Maybe Sam would know what to do? “ _Everything is not okay Sam, it’s not. And I don’t know what to do, I need my mother, she will help–_ ”

“Tater, I need you to speak English, okay? I don’t know any Russian,” Sam said gently, still rubbing soft circles on his back.

“русский?”

Sam gently patted Alexei’s hair. “It’s okay honey… whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it, yeah? We’ll fix it.”

No, no they couldn’t fix it. Kenny said they couldn’t fix it. He said that last night. There was no fixing. He only cried harder, clinging to Sam, trying to make him understand.

“Tater, can you tell me what you need?” Sam tried again.

“ _I need my mother_ ,” Alexei sniffed, hating how broken and small his voice sounded, and hoping that his words were in English. Judging by the look of confusion on Sam’s face, Alexei knew they hadn’t been. One word seemed to make it through though.

“ _Mama_ … you need your mom?”

Alexei started crying again, this time tears of relief. “да, мама.” He tried to focus on breathing, and getting his racing thoughts together, but he couldn’t manage to make the English come. He held out his phone to Sam, desperately hoping his friend would understand.

“Do you want me to call her?” Sam asked. “I can call, then hand you the phone if you want…”

Alexei could have kissed Sam, but settled for a very tight hug.

“It’s okay, big guy. I’m here. I saw you run out,” Sam explained. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Sam said, flicking through the contacts until he found, “Mamochka?” he asked, smiling when Alexei nodded. “That’s adorable. Just like you,” Sam said, ruffling Alexei’s curls and giving him a cuddle when the Russian leaned into the contact. “It’s ringing,” Sam said quietly, passing the phone over.

Alexei took it gingerly with a hoarse, “Спасибо.” As it rang, he took a few shaky breaths to try and steady himself.

 _“_ Привет, Алёша, _my darling!”_

At the sound of his mother’s voice, Alexei almost broke. _“I’m sorry, Mama_ ,” he said softly, trying to explain, but she seemed to already know.

_“My boy, don’t you worry. Whatever happened, mama will make it right. What can I do, are you all right?”_

_“I need you… I’m not hurt,”_ he said to reassure her, and he knew his body wasn’t hurt, not really, even if it felt like his stomach was in his feet and he couldn’t think straight or breathe right or find the will to move – _“just… can you come and get me? Take me home?”_ Alexei sniffed, but already he could feel some of the tension leaking from his shoulders.

_“Of course, my sweet child. Where are you?”_

He gave her the address with some help from Sam, and promised her that he would be safe until she got there. The call completed, he leaned back into Sam’s hug, utterly exhausted.

* * *

 


	7. Mamochka Can Fix Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama Bear Mashkov takes care of her son.

* * *

Sam kept an arm around Alexei’s shoulder, gently rubbing his back and keeping up a steady stream of comforting words as he worked to get his breathing back under control. By the time his mother pulled up, Alexei was less shaky, though no less miserable than he’d been before. He wanted to run to her, bury his face in her shoulder and sob like he was seven years old again, but all those things required moving, and Alexei wasn’t sure he had the energy to manage standing, let alone running.

Svetlana took one look at her boy and went to him, gathering him up in her arms and stroking his hair before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. _“My sweet boy, never you fret. My darling, Mama’s here… I love you_.” She turned to Sam, grasping his hand. “Thank you for taking care of my son,” she said. “You are very good man. Help me get him to my car, please?”

Alexei managed to summon enough energy that, with their help, he climbed into the front seat of his mother’s beetle. He tried to smile, to thank Sam for his help, but he couldn’t make the words come out, in any language.

Sam just smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s okay, Tater. Just get better, yeah? I’ll make sure the manager knows your car is here.”

Alexei reached out, squeezing Sam’s hand and attempting a very watery smile. He wanted to tell Sam that his mama was right, that Sam was a good man. He wanted to thank Sam for helping him call her, for thinking ahead about things like his car… for just caring. But he was scared that if he opened his mouth, the dam would break again and he wouldn’t be able to stop it. He knew he couldn’t let that happen until he was home – safe – where he could let himself break without hurting anyone. He hoped Sam understood.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ 

 

The drive back to his family’s apartment was a quiet one, though Svetlana periodically touched his shoulder or knee, just to let him know that she was there, to keep him grounded. He appreciated it. Knowing she was there. That he wasn’t alone. He was trying to put all of his energy into staving off another breakdown. He didn’t want to feel like this, like an elephant was sitting on his chest. Like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Like he’d been a fool for not seeing this coming. Like he really was the idiot that Kent had said he was.

By the time they got there, Alexei was sufficiently numb that he could get himself through the motions of getting out of the car and into the apartment on his own. His mother just gestured to the sofa, a sad smile on her face. “ _I’ll make some borsch. If you don’t want it right now, it’ll keep in the fridge. There is no rush, my darling,_ ” she added, smoothing his hair, “ _but whenever you want to talk, you let me know.”_

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ 

 

Over the next few days, Tater told his mother in bits and pieces what had happened, what Kenny – _Kent_ , he was Kent now – had said, and what he had done. There had been many tears and many breakdowns in the telling. And now Tater just felt drained. Emotionally, and physically. Mostly, his mother let him lie on the couch in her apartment. She made sure there was at least a sandwich and a glass of water nearby around mealtimes, never pushing him to spend time with the family, letting him work through his sadness, and for that he was grateful.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ 

 

“Anyone heard from the big guy?”

That was Poots, but he was echoing what a lot of the team was thinking. No one had heard from Tater since early on Thursday.

Jack knew that Kent was coming out to visit, but usually Tater sent him a few pictures or silly texts of whatever thing Kent had done now that Alexei thought was the most adorable thing ever. There hadn’t been anything this weekend. Maybe that was a good thing, Jack thought. Maybe he and Kent were just wrapped up in each other. God knew he and Bitty could get that way, very easily.

 _But this is different_ , said the voice in the back of Jack’s head. The voice that he usually spent every minute of the day trying to drown out. _This is a game. Twenty minutes before a game, and your captain isn’t here._ Had something happened to him? Was Tater okay? Was he in the hospital, maybe in an accident when he went out for his morning jog, and he forgot to take his wallet with him – who takes their wallet jogging, honestly – and hit by a car and sent to the hospital and in a coma and no wallet to let them know who to call for him – _stop. Stop. Deep breaths. In. Out._

_Okay._

He needed to get a grip on himself. It could be something as easy as Tater sleeping through the alarm on his phone. What would Bits tell him to do? _Call him honey,_ and this time, the voice in his head had Bittle’s soft drawl, warm and comforting and happy and safe. Smiling to himself, Jack dialed Tater’s number, trying not to give away how happy just the thought of Bitty made him.

Someone answered on the first ring, but it wasn’t Tater.

 

_“Da? Hello?”_

_“Hello? Tater… Alexei, is that you?”_

_“Nyet, no. Is Alexei’s mama. You –”_ there was a short pause, then, _“you are Zimmboni? His friend, da?”_

_“Yes, ma’am, I am. Is… is he all right?”_

_“Alyosha is… not feeling well. He is not coming out today, Zimmboni, we are very sorry. I’m wanting to tell team, but I don’t know who to call,”_ she explained.

 _“It – it’s all right ma’am, please. Tell him not to worry, everything is going to be fine. We’ll win it for him,”_ Jack said. _“Can – can you tell him I hope he feels better_?” He bit his lip, hoping she would understand.

She did. _“Of course I will.”_ There was a longer pause, so long he almost hung up, but her voice came through the speaker again, and he listened carefully. _“Zimmboni… if you are not hearing from him in few more days… you call him. Please? Come to see him… he… his body is not hurt, but he is still hurting I think,”_ she said.

Jack nodded before remembering that Mrs. Mashkov couldn’t see him. _“Of course I will. Thank you,”_ he added, then said goodbye.

Jack cleared his throat, explaining to the team that Tater was home sick, and there was a rallying cry, led by Snowy, that they would fucking win this game for their absent and beloved captain, or they would damn well die trying.

Jack smiled, raising a fist in the air with everyone else, determined to do his part and make sure he sunk at least one puck for the big Russian who had taken him under his wing, thinking ahead to the next few days. Bitty was on fall break from Samwell starting Tuesday… and he was spending it in Providence. Bits would be here, and Bits loved Tater too… if Tater hadn’t called him by Tuesday, then he and Bitty were going to track him down and do whatever they could to help.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ 

 

Alexei wasn’t really keeping track of how time was passing, only that sometimes he was alone in the apartment, and sometimes it got dark. He’d been dozing on and off a lot… the crying was exhausting. And it kept happening, no matter how much he didn’t want to be doing it anymore. As a result, his sleep schedule was completely shot to hell, and he slept through the first few knocks at the door.

The loud jangling of his cell phone, much closer to his ears, managed to startle him awake and he sat up, blearily rubbing his eyes as he tried to focus on where the music was coming from. He fumbled with the phone for a minute, growling when the call stopped ringing before he’d managed to get his head together. Before he could lie down again though, the phone rang again.

“’Lo?” he answered, an ache in his head dulling his annoyance at how stuffy and lackluster his voice sounded. He hadn’t even bothered to see who was calling. Tater knew it wouldn’t be the one person he was desperate to hear from.

“Tater? Tater, are you all right?”

The worried voice took a moment to place. “Zimmboni?”

“Yeah Tater, it’s me. You don’t sound good at all, are you – this is dumb, I –”

“You call me dumb now too?” Tater’s voice was a surly growl.

“Tater, I would never – _who called you that?_ ” It was Jack’s turn to sound angry. But his next words were soft and gentle. “Tater, are you at your mom’s? It… it would be easier if I could sit and talk with you, maybe. I mean,” he added hurriedly, “if you’re up for it. I don’t want to invade your privacy if you need some space right now.”

Tater hesitated. He knew he was lonely, and he did miss Zimmboni. Bitty too. They always made him smile before. But did he have the mental energy to explain everything? Now that he was thinking about it though, he thought he just might be able to do that, and he was surprised to realize that he wanted to talk to his friends about what had been happening. He wanted them to know. But what if he did explain, and Jack thought it was too much work to be around him? What if Zimmboni didn’t want to be friends anymore?

Jack’s voice broke through the worry in his head. “Tater, whatever’s going on, I promise I’m still going to want you around, okay?”

“How you –”

“I had serious anxiety issues, remember? Still do,” Jack said, his voice soft. “I know what it’s like to have your brain run away with you.” Tater heard Jack sigh. “I don’t know if you’re at your mom’s or not, but if you are, can you please let me in? I uh…” and now Jack was chuckling sheepishly, “I’m right outside the door. Your mom, she – well, she called me the other day? She said you might be needing your friends… even if you weren’t reaching out.”

His mamochka was taking care of him, even when she wasn’t here. Bless her. Tater was still wary though. “You come because _mamochka_ ask?”

“I came because it’s been four days since I’ve seen or heard from you, Tater.”

“Four – four days?” he croaked. “Is been four days?”

“Yeah buddy,” Jack’s voice was gentle, not judgmental at all. “Can I please come in? I’ve been worried about you, and so has Bits.”

These words finally sank in, and Tater could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Four days he’d laid on this couch, and his friends had been worried enough to come looking for him. They cared that he was sad, they wanted to help. Even when he had ignored them.

Stumbling to the door on legs numb from lying on one position for so long, Tater unlocked it and practically wrenched it open, the sudden need to see other people nearly overwhelming him.

Tater felt his face break into a smile for the first time in ages – four days apparently – as he saw both Zimmboni and Baker Bitty at the door.

“Спасибо,” he mumbled, pulling them both close in a bear hug. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much it mean to me that you are here with me.” He pulled back from the hug to let them inside, watching Bitty gasp as he put a covered dish on the kitchen table. “What is it, Itty Bitty?”

“Aw, Tater… your eyes, honey… they’re all red and puffy! Have you been upset and cryin’, here all by yourself? Oh hun!” Bitty looked upset now, and he threw his arms tight around Tater’s middle. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Tater wiped at his eyes. “I’m happy you are here at all.” His eyes went back to the dish Bitty had brought in with him. “You make something?” He hugged Bitty close again, reveling in this evidence that here, right here, were people who cared about him. “Just like mamochka. She keep trying to feed me. Oh,” Tater’s eyes filled with tears as he unfolded the red and white checkered cloth. “Is… is…”

“Lymmonyk,” Bitty said, “yes. Well, I’ve been looking at Russian recipes online and I knew something had to have happened to you… I knew you weren’t playing in Sunday’s game of course, but you wouldn’t just skip it for no reason, Tater.”

“Sunday… I miss game?” Tater sat down heavily, head in his hands. “I’m not mean to miss game, I’m sorry Zimmboni.” How could he have let this happen? He was such a bad teammate, such a bad _captain_ … but Zimmboni was coming over now, and sitting next to him. Jack put an arm around Tater’s shoulders in an imitation of the Russian’s trademark move.

“Like Bits said, we knew it had to be something serious for you not to be there.” Jack smiled up at him, then gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “If you’re up for it, Bitty can get some pie slices together for us… and we can talk, if you want. Either way,” he assured Tater, “you get to keep the lemon pie. And even if you don’t want to talk about it, but you want us to stay, we will.”

“You do that?” Tater asked, his voice small. “For me? You sure is no bother?”

Bitty paused in his search of the kitchen for plates, giving Tater a bright smile, even if his eyes were a teensy bit sad. “Oh sweetheart, of course it’s no bother. We love you, we just want to be here for you.”

At Bitty’s words, Tater felt his breath catch in his chest. These were the very words he’d been so sure Kenny – Kent – had been about to say before all this had gone south in the most horrible way. But Bitty had said them. He hadn’t been afraid, he hadn’t hesitated. And Bitty was smiling at him like a little golden angel… it had to be true.

“Спасибо, Bitty… thank you. That means so much to me… more – more than I can say in English.”

“We’ve got your back,” Jack said, his arm still comfortable around Tater’s shoulders. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

Tater sighed. He knew what he wanted, _who_ he wanted, but he also knew that who he wanted was probably sitting on a couch and petting his cat on the other side of the country. He swiped at the forming tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry now. He didn’t want to do that anymore. Kent had gotten enough tears from him.

* * *

 


	8. Clan Mashkov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty make Tater smile, and meet all the Mashkovs.

* * *

“Tater,” Jack said gently, “on the phone, you said someone called you dumb… who was it?”

Tater sighed. Jack should know. Besides, he did want to talk about it. Babushka had always told him that talking about problems with people you trusted helped to get the poison and sadness out of your body. He didn’t want to feel like this anymore. And he trusted Zimmboni. Bitty too.

“Kenny,” he said heavily. “Kent. Kent call me dumb. Actually, he say I am ‘idiot’… and he say some other things.”

 _Clang_. Bitty had dropped his pie cutter on the counter and spun around, his brown eyes dark and blazing. “He did what?” Bitty’s voice was hard and angry. “He said that to you?” The blond was almost shaking. “I know you’ve made excuses for him, both of you have, but he doesn’t get to say things like that, not to Alexei! When’s he coming out here next Tater, I’ve got some _things_ to say to him,” Bitty growled.

“He’s not,” Tater said heavily. It was the first time he’d said it out loud… and he was surprised to find that it didn’t hurt quite as much to acknowledge it as he thought it would. It was almost like a little bit of the weight on his shoulders had been lifted, and it was easier to breathe. “Coming out here, I mean. Other things he say… one of them is not wanting to see me anymore. That… that we are just fling. That he have no feelings for me, not real ones. That he just like the sex, but game is more important.” Once he started talking, the words came spilling out. He looked back and forth between his two friends, worried he might have said too much.

As he watched, the anger melted off Bitty’s face, giving way to concern and then sympathy. Bitty almost looked like he might cry at the injustice of it. Abandoning the pie on the kitchen table, he closed the distance between them and sat on Tater’s other side, hugging him again.

“Oh Alexei,” Bitty’s voice was soft, but thick with emotion, “Alexei, I’m so sorry honey.”

Tater leaned into the contact. It felt good. His family was wonderful, but they’d been giving him his space. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being held. “Is not your fault, itty Bitty.”

“It’s not yours either,” said Jack, and he looked almost as upset as Tater had been feeling the last few days. “Tater, I –”

He held up a big hand, stopping Jack. “No Zimmboni, I’m not let you take blame either. I remember what you tell me two months ago, in August.”

Bitty looked confused, so Tater went on. “I remember that you say Kenny and relationship, sometimes they don’t work out so well. That he is not thinking straight always… and sometimes his feelings…” Tater paused, searching for the right words for what he wanted to say. “They are too big for him, and he get scared. He lash out because of this.” Bitty snorted and started to say something, but Tater kept going. “Is no excuse,” he said slowly, then repeated himself. “Kenny has no excuse to say things, or to behave way he did.” He bit his lip, forcing himself to take several steadying breaths.

Tater knew he did not completely believe the words he was saying, nor had he gotten to the point of forgiving Kent. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. Or even understand why Kent ran away from something – someone – that made him happy. Because Tater _knew_ Kent had been happy with him. Even if Kent had tried to pretend otherwise in the end, he had been happy.

“He has no excuse. But he still say them. And do them. I remember what you say Jack, and I remember what Kent say when we first start. Nothing serious,” Tater said.

“You two were more than that though,” Bitty said softly, resting his head on Tater’s shoulder.

“I told Kent that,” Jack said, looking beyond guilty now. “I told him that he ought to take a closer look at how he felt. _Mon Dieu_ , I’m so sorry Tater, what if I –”

“No Zimmboni. I’m not let you apologize for Kent. His mistakes, his turn to say sorry.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Bitty mumbled.

At this, Tater chuckled. “Neither am I, itty Bitty. But is not mean I am not hurting. Is not mean that I do not wish to go back, to fix.” He sighed, hugging them both. “Of course I want to fix. But Kent… he say we cannot fix this. So okay… I have to listen. Maybe… maybe I cannot fix him and me. So okay. I just fix _me_. I am let myself be sad, too sad. For too long. You are right, miss games is bad. I forget I have other people who love me.” He smiled again, and it reached his eyes this time. “I’m not forget again.”

Bitty smiled too. “Well, if you slip up, we’ll be here to remind you.”

“Absolutely,” Jack agreed.

Before Tater could get too emotional over his friends, the door to the apartment opened.  

  _“Alyosha, I’ve decided that we’re going out for dinner, and you’re coming with us. You need real food, and people, and –”_ The short woman stopped her Russian abruptly when she saw her son sitting up and smiling. Nodding, she said, “Glad to see your friends have sense to listen to my advice.” She looked at Jack. “You are Zimmboni, yes?” When he nodded and stood to shake her hand, she batted it away before pulling him into a squishy embrace. “Hush, we hug in this family, you hear?”

Turning back to her son, she looked at the blond tucked into his side. “You are Bitty,” she said warmly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alyosha say you are very good cook.”

Bitty went bright pink. “Well ma’am, I –”

_“Did I hear the name Zimmboni? Do I finally get to meet my grandson’s handsome friends?”_

An even shorter woman rounded the corner from the entry hallway into the living room, smiling broadly, her silvery grey hair as thick and curly as Tater’s, in a long braid down her back.

“Привет, Babushka,” Tater said, the smile on his face growing. “ _Da_ , Zimmboni is here, and he brought Bitty too. Bitty is baker, I tell you before, and look,” Tater said, getting up to point to the table where Bitty’s pie still sat. “Bitty is bringing lymmonyk, to make me feel better!” Tater looked back at Bitty with a fond smile on his face.

Bitty was blushing furiously now. It seemed he wasn’t as confident about his skills with Russian recipes now that an old-school Russian grandmother was a potential critic. “I um… I followed a recipe from online,” he stammered. “It’s probably nowhere near as good as anything you’d make,” he kept going, babbling a bit until the old woman snapped her fingers.

“Stand up, Mr. Bitty.”

He did, looking like he’d been called to the Dean’s office.

“You make this, yes?” she asked, her eyes narrow and sharp.

“Yes…”

“You are baker. You put your heart in everything from your kitchen, yes?”

“Well, yes ma’am.”

One hand was on her hip, the other poked a finger into Bitty’s chest. “Then I never want to hear you say bad word about your own food ever again. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bitty said, a bit of a smile coming to his face.

She smiled then, her wrinkled eyes crinkling at the corners as she pulled Bitty in for a hug, just like Mrs. Mashkov had done to Jack. “So handsome,” she said, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Maybe I play hockey next year, get a new husband.”

Tater laughed out loud. “Bitty is taken, Baba. Zimmboni may fight you for him.”

“This one?” she asked, giving Jack an appraising eye now. “God in heaven, he is handsome too,” she said, winking at Jack, who went red. “Nice pick, Bitty.” She walked to the table, finishing what Bitty had started almost an hour ago by plating the lymmonyk, not sparing a glance for the two blushing boys on her sofa.

She cut into her piece, which was noticeably bigger than the one she cut for her daughter, and closed her eyes, savoring it. Even Tater didn’t say anything, seeming to hold his breath.

Somehow, before any of them even knew how it happened, she was hugging Bitty again. “You sit and make excuse, but your baking is very good, little котенок, so good!” she kissed both his cheeks, even though she had to stand on tiptoe to reach. “You come here more often, I teach you things,” she said, letting go to pat Tater’s elbow. “Alyosha is pretty to look at, but he is hopeless in kitchen.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Bitty did come back. Even though it was his senior year, he made sure to make time for the Mashkovs whenever he had breaks. Jack was usually at their family dinner at least once a week, and more often than not, there was something on the table that Bitty had made.

Jack made Tater go on extra runs with him. Not that Tater really needed them, his metabolism was faster than a runaway freight train. But Jack did, if he wanted to stay in shape and keep eating Babushka and Svetlana’s food. And he’d be damned if he was going to go back to eating nothing but chicken and rice when Bitty wasn’t around. The runs also made sure to get Tater out of the house, and to keep his mind off Kent.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Grandma Mashkov had only taken two more visits of Bitty calling her “ma’am” before she’d clicked her tongue. “No more,” she said. “My name Roksana. This or Babushka, you call me. Other thing make me feel _old_ ,” she said.

“Mama, you _are_ old,” Tater’s mother teased.

“Bah, you are too, but not so old I can’t send you to bed with no dessert! Erichnya, no sharlotka for Lani tonight!”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Jack had thought Tater was tall, and had been wondering where Alexei had gotten it from, as his mother and grandmother were _tiny_. When he met Tater’s father, however, everything suddenly made a lot more sense. Pavel Mashkov was 6’8”, towering even over his son, and he lifted Jack a full six inches off the ground in a bear hug the first time they met when he came back to Rhode Island from his latest trip to Mirny.

“So happy to meet my boy’s best American friends!” he boomed.

“Zimmboni is Canadian, Papa,” Tater said, stifling a laugh.

“Even better! He bring us syrup for next visit. Oh!” he gasped, catching sight of Bitty. “And this little gold honeybee! So teeny!” He leveled a hand and measured from the top of Bitty’s head to the middle of his chest, then ruffling Bitty’s hair. “Roksana, we have to feed this little one… what neighbors say if people see him leaving still this small?”

* * *

 


	9. Home For the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has a pretty solid holiday season, and someone most definitely does not. (Not that Kent would ever admit he had a lousy one.)

* * *

The holiday season saw Jack and Bitty spending even more time with the Mashkovs, and working hard to help Tater enjoy himself. Bitty learned how to play dreidel, and so did Jack. They learned that Tater was a closet shark with the spinning top, and they laughed and smiled, and stood with Tater as he spoke the holy words over the family menorah, quiet and reverent as his younger sister Natalya lit the candles.

Bitty learned how to make latkes and pear applesauce. Babushka taught him how to make matzo balls so airy that they would always float, and Bitty learned how to make his own sharlotka, the Russian version of apple pie. When Jack convinced him to make one with a sugar maple crust, Babushka liked it so much, she cried.

When Tater saw Natalya in her Sugar Plum Fairy costume, he had to work hard not to cry. She put it on for the family – and Bitty and Jack – to get a sneak preview two weeks before her dance studio’s annual production of the Nutcracker. She was in her senior year of high school, and had earned the principal role, something that had her glowing all month.

 

_“You look so beautiful, Nati. So beautiful. And I am so proud to be your brother.”_

_“Careful, Alyosha. I might start thinking you like me or something.”_

_“I love you, Natalya.”_

_“I love you too, you big softie. You make sure you get to the theater early, all right? You need to save Bitty a seat. I don’t want any tall people in front of him, okay?”_

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Bitty and Jack helped to bring Tater back to himself whenever something reminded him to much of Kent, something all the Mashkovs were grateful for. Natalya thanked them both with kisses, then with comp tickets to see her in the ballet.

The whole team surprised Tater by coming to see the show when they’d found out he was attending, but the biggest laugh was at Snowy’s expense.

“Psst, Tater-tot, d’you really come to this thing every year?”

“Yes, of course. Is ballet. But shh… intermission almost over.”

“I will, but can you introduce me to one of the dancers after?”

“Why? Oh, you are needing, what Ransom say… wingman?”

“That would be hella awesome bro, seriously.”

“Why you are needing my help?”

“Dude, you’re fucking Russian… that’s a gold card with these gorgeous dancers. Please?”

“Who you are wanting to meet?”

“Man, I fucking _knew_ I could count on you… can you set me up with the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

The smile fell from Tater’s face. “Natalya?”

“Dude… even her name is hot.”

Tater didn’t smile.

“What?”

Thirdy jabbed his elbow into Snowy’s side. “Did you read her last name in the program?”

“No… why the fuck would I read the program when I can just get you to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“Bro –”

“Mashkov,” Tater said, crossing his arms over his broad chest, face more serious than Snowy had ever seen it. “Her name is Natalya _Mashkov_.” He paused. “You ask me to ‘hook you up’ with my baby sister.”

Snowy went white. “Oh shit, Tater, I – fuck, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean –”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his voice still low. “And if you want to date Nati…” Tater paused, then doubled over, shoulders shaking, then he straightened up with a wide grin on his face. “Haha, if you want to date her, is _her_ you have to ask. I may be big brother, but she is tougher than me… she is ballerina,” he added. Grinning, he shoved Snowy’s shoulder. “You see your face… look like you think I am going to beat you up!”

“You had me fucking worried, big guy. I saw what you did to that last forward.”

Tater shrugged. “He deserve it. He get in your face. You are my buddy Snowy, I got your back.”

“Always, right?” the goalie said, color starting to come back into his face as he relaxed.

Tater winced. “Always… except if you get on Nati’s bad side… more than my life is worth to protect you from that.”

Snowy sighed dreamily, and made heart eyes at the stage for the rest of the night. Snowy was only a few years older than Nati, Tater thought. Nati was seventeen, sure… but Snowy was only twenty-one. If the goalie played his cards right and was willing to wait a little while… Tater smiled, sure that this was not the last of this conversation.  

He turned back to the stage, near bursting with pride for his sister and her best friend Sophia, turning movement into magic as they captivated the entire auditorium

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

If Tater had thought about this show last October, he would have thought he’d be bringing Kent. Only three months ago. But the blond by his side was Bitty tonight. Jack had an interview with “You Can Play”, which they’d all agreed was important (especially as Jack planned on coming out at the end of the season). He would be here soon, in a few minutes, in time for the second half.

As he sat, content to watch the familiar story unfold before him, Tater marveled at how lucky he was, and how far he’d come. He still had bad days, and sometimes he missed Kent so much it made his chest ache. But Tater didn’t feel the crushing loneliness anymore, and more often than not, he was surrounded by friends and family. And he was happy. Jack and Bitty had seen him at his worst, and they were still by his side. He was so lucky.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Kent was annoyed. It seemed to be a constant state for him these days. Everything rankled, from the sun and the heat, to how ridiculous Swoops looked with his hat on backwards, and how everyone on his team seemed to be smiling all the fucking time. They always seemed to have something to be happy about.

Then again, they weren’t the ones with an average points drop of thirty-eight percent, if ESPN was to be believed. Kent knew he’d been playing lousy, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Jeff had been the first one to speak up that first weekend after he’d stopped seeing Mashkov.

 

_I’m surprised you called. Would have thought you might be out east this weekend.”_

_“I saw my mom like, three weeks ago.”_

_“No, I thought you’d be out seeing Tater.”_

_Kent frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. Instead of saying what he wanted to, he rolled his eyes. “God, you call him that too?”_

_Jeff shrugged good-naturedly. “He seems to like it. Besides, he told me to, last time he was out here. We hung out a bit at Ace’s equinox party.”_

_Ignoring the sharp pang in his gut that surely was from Finny’s check at practice and was absolutely definitely not jealousy at Mashkov being friendly with someone who was not him, Kent forced a bored expression onto his face. “Yeah, that was a dece party. Who knew mead was so delish, am I right?”_

_Jeff raised an eyebrow, but continued to drink his beer._

_Kent knew he had to say something. Jeff might not be pushing him to, but sitting there and pointedly staring while he drank his Sam Adams Team Dad Beer was almost worse._

_“I uh. I’m not seeing him anymore,” he said, very intent on the way the ice swirled around his Long Island Iced Tea._

_“Sorry to hear that,” Jeff said, and he really looked it. “I thought you two were good together.”_

_“We weren’t together, Jeff.”_

_“Okay.”_

_And that had been the end of that conversation. It seemed like Kent spent the rest of the month convincing everyone else that knew though._

 

And now here he was, alone in his penthouse on fucking New Year’s, seventeen minutes from the Big Moment, having just put the very tall brunet he’d brought back from the club into an Uber after calling him ‘Alyosha’.

It had to be the four appletinis he’s had. There was no way he was _pining_. He just saw the dark curls and slipped up.

He didn’t take the guy home because he looked like Mashkov. He’d always had a thing for tall brunets, Jack was proof of that. So what if every guy – and a couple of girls – he’d brought home since October was tall and had brown hair? That didn’t mean anything. It didn’t.

Which is exactly what he had told his cousin Kate, who was the only one who didn’t seem to believe him about Mashkov. Just last week, over Christmas dinner, she’d had the nerve to suggest that his current lack of goals (her words had been more along the lines of “no valid contributions on the ice”, which had very nearly earned her some garlic rosemary stuffing to the face) was because he’d “broken up” with Tater.

When he’d vehemently disagreed, and then asked why she used that dumbass nickname, she’d grinned. “I follow him on instagram. He’s hilarious. And cute. Bonus.”

For that, he _had_ thrown stuffing at her. Of course, he’d had to wash his hair four times to get the cranberry sauce out that she’d rubbed into his curls. ­

* * *

 


	10. Pining Isn't Just For Christmas Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kent realizes that his life is in fact a rom-com... and he is the Guy Who Fucked Stuff Up... but it's okay, because this is the part where he's supposed to work out how to fix it.

* * *

He had _not_ peaked.

His best years of hockey were still very much ahead of him _, fuck you_ very much, Sports Center. Everyone had dry spells. Everyone. No one was perfect all the time, and lots of players had weeks, sometimes months, where they were just another team member instead of the star. Kent was okay with that, really. And it wasn’t like he was the only good player they had. The team was doing just fine, even in the last game when he’d played for barely twenty minutes, they’d still beat the Blackhawks 4-0. He was just going through a dry spell. That’s all it was.

Well, whatever the fuck it was, it needed to stop already. It was already into February, and he still wasn’t playing like himself. Whatever funk he was in, it was officially so bad that Kit had noticed. She wasn’t cuddling him as much, and she was definitely scratching him again. She hadn’t been this aggressive with him since he’d brought her in from behind the dumpster.

Kit had always liked Mashkov, which had been momentous. Mashkov was the first person she’d really actively liked besides Kent. Back then, Kent had always found this adorable, but now that he thought about it, it was probably just because Mashkov was the only one who Kent had brought home regularly.

No. That wasn’t right. Because Kit had warmed up to Mashkov the very first time he’d been out to visit. Kent had posted a pic of them cuddling to Kit’s Instagram, which of course prompted more articles about their ‘relationship’. They’d been sleeping together at that point, but no matter what they’d both said on record, the papers (both online and hard copy) had always printed what they wanted.

Kent flopped back on his couch, knowing it was stupid and childish and childishly stupid to check Mashkov’s twitter the week before Valentine’s Day to see if he was doing anything – but he was gonna do it anyway. Trying not to think about how this probably made him a little bit pathetic – checking up on a former booty call during the most romantic holiday on the calendar – he pulled up twitter and thumbed over to Mashkov’s account.

Scrolling through the tweets, he felt a pang of guilt to notice that there weren’t that many around October and November – but they started to pick up again in early December.

Not that he had scrolled all the way back to see what he’d missed.

There were tweets in Russian and what looked like maybe something else – Yiddish, that was it – and pictures of the whole family. He assumed it was the family anyway, they all looked like Mashkov. They were around a menorah and a huge table full of food. With a pang, he noticed some of these pictures included Zimms and Bittle. Which meant there was pie. And damn if they didn’t all look so fucking happy.

There were pictures of snowball fights. Mashkov comparing Bittle’s tiny snow angel with his fucking huge one. Okay. That was cute. Kent ignored the curl of – _something_ – in his gut that was absolutely not jealousy as he stared at the picture of Mashkov hugging Bittle. This was _Bittle_ for fuck’s sake. Bittle, who was head-over-heels in love with _Zimms._ Who had no interest in Mashkov whatsoever.

Even if he did, it’s not like Kent had any reason or right to be upset about it.

Kent was contemplating just sleeping here, as he was nearly sunk into the cushions, when he sat up so abruptly his vision momentarily blurred. Holding his head and shaking it to relieve the dizziness, he expanded the tweet that had thrown him for such a loop.

It wasn’t a mistake brought on by drowsiness. There was Mashkov, his arms around two very pretty women, one on each side, and both smiling at him.

Fuck, it was a photoset.

In the next pic, Mashkov was kissing the redhead’s cheek. The next one was the blonde getting the same treatment. The last one was both of them kissing his cheeks. Mashkov was pink-faced, but clearly happy and enjoying the attention.

Shit.

Maybe they were just friends? Mashkov _was_ overly friendly with just about everyone. Maybe this was just him not being able to keep his hands to himself like a normal person. Maybe they were fans. Mashkov was always so damn cheerful with them, and ready to do anything for someone who liked his team.

 

**@a91mashkov**

                Guess who I spend <3 day with? My best girls say I can eat anything I want!! )))))))))))

 

Fuck.

 

Here he was with absolutely nothing to do on Valentine’s Day except cry into a tub of ice cream while home alone with his cat, and Mashkov had _two_ fucking dates.

He wasn’t pining.

He wasn’t jealous of the girls.

It was more a general, ‘I don’t want to be alone when everyone else clearly isn’t’ thing.

He wasn’t pining.

“I _don’t_ miss him,” Kent said out loud, glaring at Kit, who simply stared back, looking as though she did not believe this pathetic declaration for a second.

Kent sighed. “Y’know… I don’t believe me either.”

Just for now, maybe he would let himself miss Tater.

Getting very drunk suddenly seemed like the best plan for the evening.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

About every three weeks or so, when Kent’s self-control cracked and he checked Tater’s twitter, he would see occasional pictures of the same two pretty girls, or sometimes a cute boy, with the caption:

 

**“I make sure he behave tonight )))))) ;)”**

 

He would always growl and generally throw his phone, swearing never to check up on Mashkov ever again. Until the next time he cracked.

He wasn’t sure exactly why, but it always made something in his stomach curl when he saw these. He didn’t like that it was so easy for Mashkov… that had to be it.

Because in the last few months – ever since Valentine’s, said a little voice in his head with a suspiciously Quebecois accent – every tall brunet Kent had brought home had been sent packing within twenty minutes.

He was not jealous. He did not miss Mashkov.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Okay, so sue him. He was fucking jealous.

And he missed the guy.

And it only took him seven months to admit it to himself. Hey. Better than two years, like last time. Progress.

After tweeting Bittle a ‘happy birthday’ message that he was 112% sure he wouldn’t get a response to, his thumb hovered over Mashkov’s icon. Should he say something? Maybe he should. He’d been the one to walk out, after all. But how did you do that over a tweet?

 _‘Sorry for being the biggest dick in all of existence. If you never want to talk to me again that’s okay but I was hoping maybe we could get back together because you were right all along, we were totally dating and I miss you’_?

225 characters.

Nope. Too long for a single tweet.

And he did know that ‘I miss you’ was both too short and an even bigger dick move than trying to apologize in 140 characters.

He wanted to apologize. Really. He did. He really fucking did.

Kent knew he was awful at apologizing though. And honestly, he wasn’t even sure Tater would forgive him, or if he even deserved it. And he knew that the right apology would take time. Which he had less and less of right now, as the Aces were three games into Round 1. He could apologize before Round 2. Who knew, maybe the Falcs would make it all the way, and they’d play each other. Then he’d see Tater in person. And this really should be an in-person apology anyway.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

The Aces were up three games in Round 2, and Kent still hadn’t called Tater. Maybe that was okay – in-person was always better, right? Maybe they would play the Falcs. They were doing well… they smashed that Capitols 4-1. The Penguins wouldn’t know what hit them.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

The Penguins did know what hit them. And they apparently knew how to hit back. They wouldn’t play each other… Kent had groaned in agony when the Falcs had lost on double OT to the Pens in game seven of Round 3. That Matt Murray had some amazing hands. The Crosby-Zimmermann faceoffs had been fucking amazing though. And Tater’s with Malkin. Hot damn.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

The Aces were in the finals. They could win the cup. Again. He almost called Tater that night, but then he figured that calling right when the Falcs just had their cup dreams ripped away might be taken in bad taste. He could call after. Whether the Aces won or lost, he promised himself he would do it. After the cup. And he would keep it up until Tater took his call.

* * *

 


	11. Because Emotional Pain Wasn't Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tater thinks he's the only adult in Providence who does not give a flying fart in space about hockey right now... and the sport he loves gets him back for thinking bad thoughts about Lord Stanley.

* * *

Tater was doing his level best to forget that the Stanley cup finals were happening this week. Partly because his own team had come so close, only to lose their shot… Snowy had been inconsolable for three days before sobering up and vowing that he would buy a bottle of Crystal for the Aces goalie if he avenged them. Funnily enough, it had been Natalya who helped to bring him out of his misery by inviting him to a family dinner… go figure. Tater knew that he hadn’t heard the last of that.

Of course, the Aces were the other reason he was trying to ignore the finals.

He went out to the grocery store right after the team lost game seven to a truly spectacular play between Crosby, Malkin, and Kessel, intent on bringing home some vodka so that he could have a brilliant excuse not to watch game one of the finals. Being drunk was the best excuse not to drive to any parties.

Pushing his cart through the aisles, he haphazardly threw things in without paying much attention to what they were.

When the cart was full, he pushed it gingerly to the checkout lanes, wincing at how high the bill was going to be. Well, fine then… he just wouldn’t tell Mamochka how much he was spending on food this week. And he wouldn’t tell Smithy and Hawks about the cheesecake either… at least, not until after he ate most of it.

To be fair to them, his nutritionists had been great over the last four months. They called, visited him outside of the rink, and had even spent Valentine’s Day with him so that he wouldn’t be alone.

Because as much as he didn’t want or like to admit it, as much as he smiled now and joked with everyone, as much as he seemed to be himself again… he was still in love with Kent.

He wished he wasn’t, because maybe then his chest wouldn’t carry this constant dull ache and his arms wouldn’t feel empty and his hands wouldn’t feel cold. But he was, and they did. There were moments when he could forget the hurt, but with the Aces in the finals and Kent’s team and Kent’s face plastered all over everything, these moments were becoming harder and harder to scrape out.

Tater sighed heavily, trying to muster up a smile for the cashier, who had done nothing wrong and had a lousy job and definitely deserved to have a nice smile sent their way, when he heard a soft squeal behind him.

Expecting it to be a fan, since he did get recognized on occasion, he started to carefully turn around, and then he heard what the teenager was really gasping about.

“That’s him isn’t it?” she half-whispered to her friend.

“Yeah, that’s the gay hockey guy.”

“The one who broke up with that cute blond one your brother’s got in his room?”

“I think, it’s gotta be. There aren’t any other gay ones… why would he break up with that though? That guy’s so hot!”

Tater felt his chest clench. If he’d had his way, Kent would never have left his life, and they’d be laughing about this enormous pile of groceries together. These girls thought it was his fault though, that he had been the one to call it off. The magazines must have written something like that then. George had told him not to read any of them, and he’d taken her advice.

Had Kent said something? Given an interview? Told horrible stories about him to the news? His hand twitched toward the magazines, but he couldn’t bring himself to take one. Kent had made his feelings very clear the last time they’d spoken. He did turn around to look at the girls, the smile gone from his face now. When he spoke, there was no anger in his voice, only sadness, and a nearly overwhelming fatigue.

“You know, sometimes magazines miss parts of story. Rarely do they get all of truth. These stories… they are about real people, with real feelings. Is more to this than you know… please, remember that.”

They clearly hadn’t expected him to hear them, let alone respond. They stared back, blushing and mumbling about it ‘not meaning anything.’

Tater heard his Babushka’s voice in his head, stopping him from lashing out. Instead he took a deep breath and turned back to the cashier, giving her a soft smile that she returned, once when she started ringing up his food, and again when she handed him back his card.

He knew he was leaving an awkward wake behind him, but at this point he didn’t particularly care. It may not mean anything to those girls, but to him, it was his life. And right now, all he wanted was to go home and keep it from falling apart all over again.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

The Aces won the first game, but the Pens took the next two. Tater sat in Zimmboni’s living room and cheered for Bad Bob’s old team, surrounded by friends and family. He laughed when Wayne Gretzky had to look up to meet Papa Mashkov’s eyes, and even more when Babushka hit on Mario Lemieux. He ate his mamochka’s borsch, and Bitty’s lymmonyk, and nurtured his new-found love for sweet tea, all while silently hoping for the Pens to just _end this already_ so he could go back to ignoring his broken heart in peace.

Of course Kent had to score a hatty in game four.

And in game five.

Game six was goal-less throughout all of regulation play… until Kent scored off an assist from his right winger with seven seconds left. It was an incredible play.

But for the first time in his life, Tater wished he didn’t have to think about hockey.

So when game seven rolled around and it was all anyone was talking about, Tater decided to fall back on his usual methods of ignoring loneliness. The best way to get out of his own head and troubles was to help someone else with theirs. And since almost every adult he knew couldn’t stop talking about the one thing he wanted to ignore, kids were clearly the perfect solution.

George had been asking around for one of the guys to take over her coaching spot with the Falcs’ pee-wee skating class (so she and her wife could watch the game) and so far, no one had been willing to miss their own Stanley parties, even though most of them had been continuing for days now. Well then, he could get his mind off Kent, help George, and spend some time with good kids, all at the same time. It would be a great way to spend the day.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

If you asked him right at this moment, Alexei Nicholas Mashkov would swear that some supernatural force in the universe hated him, or at the very least, liked nothing better than proving him wrong.

His large hands were tightly clamped around his calf; there was no way he was going to let these sweet kids see him bleed onto the ice. He wouldn’t be responsible for scaring them away from something they loved. Grinning widely at little Kate and James, who had skated the closest, he said, “I am fine, not to worry. Sometimes things hurt us, but we always get back up and play, yes?”

A chorus of tiny voices answered him with varying degrees of confidence. Tater knew he had to get off the ice to bandage this, but how was he going to stand up?

Before he could get too worried, he caught a glimpse of one of the assistant trainers watching from the sidelines. Catching David’s eye, he nodded over to himself and the other man’s eyes widened momentarily before getting what Tater was driving at, and calling the kids over to him, starting to explain some hockey safety rules.

Tater used the distraction to his advantage and skated off the ice as quickly as his injury would let him, limping to the closest emergency first aid kit under the team benches. Not wanting anyone to worry about him, and wanting to make sure the kids got their full two hours’ worth of ice time, he pulled out gauze and an ace bandage, resolving to go see Brannan as soon as the skate session was over.

And he gingerly pushed his sweatpants up to wrap the ace bandage where the kids couldn’t see, he heard a voice to his side.

“Oooh, that looks painful! You okay, big guy?”

Tater looked over to see a woman with mousy brown hair in a pink velour tracksuit, trying to get a better look at his leg.

“Oh no… is fine. I’m having worse before,” he said, flashing her a big grin and trying to laugh it off.

“What happened?” the woman asked, putting a concerned hand on his shoulder as he hunched over.

“Not exactly sure,” Tater said, carefully wrapping his calf around his skate. He didn’t dare unlace; the skate was probably compressing his ankle and slowing the bleeding. “One minute, we skating okay, and next, Timmy and Joshua fighting. I try to break them up, and we tangle.” He shrugged, wincing as the bandage hit a tender angle. “Rather I get hurt than kids. They are fine, is important thing.”

“You’re so brave,” she cooed, lightly hitting his arm and smiling.

Tater went slightly pink. “Season over for me anyway… And kids, is important they stay safe.” He looked at her again. “How come you are here? One of kids are yours?” he asked.

She looked momentarily taken aback, then smiled, all teeth. “Oh yes, honey. That’s it. Just here to watch the practice, getting away from the boys at home… that sort of thing.”

Tater smiled. “I’m understand. Everyone is only having eyes for game today. Well, I am patched up, which means I should be on ice. Nice to be talking with you!”

“Wait,” she called, “before you go… can I get a picture with you? The kids are calling them ‘selfies’, right?”

He laughed. “Of course, I know selfies. Always selfies are okay,” he said, and obliged her, leaning in and smiling for her phone. He waved her goodbye as she returned to the stands, greeting David as he hit the ice again.

“Everything okay, big man?” David asked softly, looking worried.

“Yeah, yeah. Take small tumble, just don’t want to worry kids.”

“Okay… you drop by Brannan’s room after, though, you got it? I know the season’s over, but he’d kill me if he found out I knew you got hurt and didn’t tell anyone.”

“Will do!”

As Tater skated back to the kids he could have sworn he saw another camera flash out of the corner of his eyes. But that was normal, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t parents want pictures of their kids?

* * *

 


	12. Game 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finals? Stanley Cup? The last game in the series? Aces down by one? Twenty minutes left in regulation play?
> 
> For the first time in his life, Kent realizes that none of that really matters. There's somewhere else he needs to be.

* * *

Kent took his helmet off, huffing his sweat-sticky bangs from his face. Damn this team. They were _good_. Intermission and they’d scored on Ace three times. It was okay though, Murray had let in two shots, one of which Kent had scored.

Kent was breathing hard as he left the ice, both from the game so far, and in anticipation of the last period. They were behind, yeah – but they could still win. One goal. One goal was all they needed, and at the very least that would push the Penguins into OT. Winning his third Stanley in game seven OT, before he was 25? He’d be a legend.

As he skated off, ready to sit and try to relax for a few minutes, he caught a glimpse of Wilky waiting for him, phone in hand and looking upset.

“Relax bro, we’re gonna pull this out, it’s all good!”

“No Kent… that’s – that’s not –”

Kent turned back. The assistant was never usually this serious. “What’s got you rattled?”

“Kent… I – I um…”

“Dude, just tell me. Did I have broccoli stuck in my teeth on the Jumbo-Tron or something?”

“No... it’s… I know you two were, well… there’s not really a label and I’m not sure how you guys ended it, but I thought you should know.” Wilky shoved his iPhone at Kent, who almost lost his grip on his gloves trying to keep it from clattering to the ground.

Before he finished reading the headline though, his stick and gloves did fall from his hands, the blood draining from his face.

 

* * *

 

**ALEXEI MASHKOV SERIOUSLY INJURED IN BRUTAL FIGHT**

**AT FALCONERS ARENA**

 

_What should have been a relaxing day for the Falconers captain turned ugly fast. A man who enjoys giving back to the community, Mashkov was spending some downtime at the rink yesterday when he tried to break up a fight on the ice. The violent altercation quickly went from out of hand, to out of control as Mashkov stepped in._

_Out for blood, one of the participants cut Mashkov across the leg with the blade of his skates, leading to Mashkov’s removal from the ice. He put the safety of everyone else on the rink above his own, and had a smile for the children present, but was less enthusiastic when asked for a quote._

_“Season’s over for me,” he said, eyes downcast as he tried to cover the pain. “You never know what’s next… we get hurt sometimes.”_

_{pictured: Mashkov in serious talks with a member of his athletic and medical team}_

_A leg injury is no laughing matter for a hockey player, and as of now it is unclear how soon Mashkov will be able to skate again. He spoke with his trainer, and it was agreed that after the initial hospital visit (which may have included surgery) he’ll be recovering at home. We wish him the best of luck, and pray for a speedy recovery._

* * *

 

There was a buzzing in Kent’s ears. His heart felt like it had dropped out of his stomach, and the rest of his insides seemed to be made of lead. He couldn’t think straight. Fuck, he could barely _breathe_ , why did he lace up his pads so tight, why couldn’t he get any air, _dammit_ –

“Kent!”

Wilky was shaking him. “Are you okay?”

Tater was hurt. Tater had been in a fight. He was hurt, maybe had been in the hospital – _shit_ – what if he had been there _alone?_

He should have been there. To help. To hold Alexei’s hand. To make fun of the bad hospital food, anything. To just fucking be someone who was there, right there next to him. He should have been there this whole. Fucking. Time. To tell him that he was loved, and that everything was going to be okay. Because they would get through it. Together.

Fuck.

Not again. He would not lose him again. The first time he lost Alexei, it was his own stupid dumbass fault. There would not be a second time. Not if Kent could help it.

Before he really knew what he was doing, he was already walking toward the locker room. Then running. He wasn’t where he needed to be. He needed to be in Providence. He needed to be with Alexei. With Tater.

Dimly aware of Wilky calling his name, Kent called back without stopping. “I’m going out there, he needs me. Tell Coach!”

And then he was around the corner to the locker room. He could be gone in fifteen minutes. Ten, if he called for the uber now.

 

Wilky stared after him, thunderstruck. Tell Coach that his captain and lead scorer was _leaving the goddamn arena_ and, by all available evidence, was presumably about to fly across the country in the middle of _game seven_ …. because of something _he_ had showed him?

Yeah. _Pass_.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Kent thanked a god he wasn’t quite sure he believed in that he’d remembered to toss his small gym bag into his big one this morning. The big one would never make carry-on requirements, and the last thing he wanted right now was the hassle of baggage claim. He needed to get to Tater. Now. He needed as few complications as possible on this trip. It was going to be stressful enough.

Kent pulled his phone out, forcing his shaking fingers under control enough to request an airport uber. If he sent the request now, the car would probably get here just as he hit the parking lot. Good. Less time for someone to stop him. There was a niggling tiny thought in the back of his mind that a lot of people were probably going to be very angry at him for this – but if they knew, really _knew_ – they would understand, right? They would. They had to. The niggling thought got crammed down by everything else swirling around his brain and was very soon forgotten in the wake of a bigger thought.

Alexei was hurt.

Kent knew he had fucked up. Big time. And he’d hurt Alexei. He had to make it right. He had to tell Alexei the truth. That he loved him. That he was sorry.

So unbelievably sorry.

That he would make it right. Even if it took the rest of his life.

Fuck.

He sounded like a movie. And the uber was probably gonna pull up any minute.

He threw off his uniform, kicking off his skates and not caring when one bounced halfway across the room. Leaving the skate where it was, he stuffed the jersey and pads into his cubby. Kent yanked on a t-shirt and shorts before shoving his feet into his crocs, not even caring that he was wearing socks at the same time.

Kent left everything but his smaller bag, double-checking to make sure he had his wallet and ID before running out the side door.

 _Thank god_ , the uber was there and waiting.

“Kent?” the driver asked, sounding slightly bored.

“Yeah – yeah, that’s me,” he said, slightly out of breath as he yanked open the door and practically jumped inside. “Airport please.”

“What airline?”

Shit. “Give me a few minutes on that one?”

As they pulled out of the parking lot, the woman laughed, not quite believing him. “You mean you’re about to get on a plane and you don’t know?”

“Haven’t bought the ticket yet,” Kent said, swiping a thumb across his phone to do just that. “Hadn’t really planned on the trip.”

“Oh.” And now the driver’s voice was a bit more serious. “Someone get hurt?” she asked. “Loved one?”

“Yeah.” Kent hated how small his voice sounded.

“So we’re gonna take the quick way, then,” she said, making eye contact in the rearview mirror. “Let’s get you to the airport.”

Fifteen minutes and a few possibly broken speed limits later, Kent almost fell out of the car at the United gate, waving a rushed but heartfelt thank-you to his driver, boarding passes on his phone.

The ticket check-in was no problem. He got a few odd looks in security and was asked to sign three autographs before the TSA officer holding his printed ticket realized his boarding time was approaching and let him go.

Kent didn’t let himself relax until the plane was in the air. He wasn’t overly fond of flying, but he’d made this trip enough times that he wasn’t antsy. At least, not about the flight itself. No. right now, the only worry in his head was getting to Alexei. But he’d underestimated the physical toll nearly thirty minutes of hockey had taken earlier that night, on top of his worry, and within ten minutes of takeoff, he was sound asleep.

The next thing he knew, someone was gently shaking his shoulder. Tater? No – he was trying to go see Tater. Who – the airplane – his eyes opened and he jumped, trying to rub the sleep from his face. “Wha’timezitt?”

A pretty woman with perfectly arranged hair – must be a flight attendant – gave him a gentle smile. “We’ve landed in Newark, Mr. Parson. You can de-plane now.”

“De-plane?” Kent rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Yes, sir. We were a bit late getting in, so if you could tell us your connecting flight, we’d be happy to assist you in getting you to your next gate.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

It was a near thing, but he made it to Flight 1221 with about fifteen minutes to spare. This kind of shit was why he hated flying. So much of the timing and details were out of his control.

Was that why he’d run when he first realized he loved Tater? When you loved someone, that made it real. It gave them power over you. They could hurt you now. They could leave. Cut you out of their heart and their life and leave a gaping hole in your chest that you couldn’t fill up no matter how hard you tried, because you loved them and they didn’t care.

Tater wouldn’t do that though. Tater wouldn’t hurt him like that. Not Tater, who wore his heart on his sleeve and on his face. Tater, who didn’t have a deceptive bone in his body. Tater, who called him ‘ _his little kitten’_ and cuddled him close like Kent was the most precious thing in the world. No. Tater would never do that.

With a sick twist of horror in the pit of his stomach, Kent realized that Tater would never do those things – but he, Kent, had.

Kent had realized that Tater loved him, and had just left. Kent had been the one with the power, and he’d torn a hole in Tater’s chest and just hurt him. He’d hurt Tater.

The plane couldn’t fly fast enough. He had to get there and fucking apologize. He had to tell Tater that he knew apologies weren’t going to be enough, but that he was willing to prove he was here to stay this time. Kent was sure there would be groveling and begging involved, and for once, that thought didn’t bother him.

Kent ran a hand over his face, the emotional and physical roller coaster of the last twelve hours weighing heavily on his shoulders. He wasn’t going anywhere for the next eighty-seven minutes. And he couldn’t make the plane go faster just by wishing it. He might as well try to get some more sleep. The speech he intended to give would have to be the bests one of his life. Alexei’s heart, and his, depended on it.

* * *

 


	13. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent had nearly seven hours of a cross-country flight to plan out what he was going to say in just about every possible scenario he could think of. Or so he thought.

* * *

Finally.

9:37am landing, only twelve minutes late.

Kent stood up, hunched over to keep his already messy hair from getting worse static cling from the bulkheads. Come on, people – how hard was it to get your bags and get off the damn plane? Fix them later. Come on. Throw it over your shoulder. Wheel it. Whatever. Who cares. Just. Get. Off. The. Plane. Why was this so fucking hard?

Oh my god, stop being so polite. Just go. You’re never going to see them again, who the fuck cares if 15A gets annoyed that 16A got off before they did? Just _walk_ already. _Fucking hell._

At least he didn’t have to wait for any bags. Kent didn’t think he could have stood around a carousel to wait when he could have been in a car on the way to Tater.

Shit, was Tater in the hospital? Which – no, the article said he’d gone in, but was ‘recuperating’ at home. Well. That was fine. Kent knew how to get there. Car, bike. Hell, he would fucking run it if he wasn’t so shaky. Damn, that meant renting a car and driving himself was out. So was the bus. He knew that was the cheapest option, but it was nowhere near the fastest.

His uber bill this month was gonna be hella high.

Kent shook his head. What the fuck did he care? He needed to get there, and he made more than enough. He hadn’t felt this out of it since he’d been back in New York with just his mom and his sister, when they really did have to take the bus everywhere. It wasn’t like that anymore. He shook his head, reminding himself when and where he was, pulling up the uber app again. He needed to get to Tater, and nothing else mattered.

Not that the Providence drivers seemed to care. It took three tries and a lot of half-shouted expletives later, but a driver finally accepted his long-ass drive from the airport to Tater’s building. He hoped the doorman still remembered him. In the back of one of his kitchen drawers, Kent still had ‘his’ key to Tater’s apartment. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of it.

 _Should have told him something_ , he though ruefully. Fat lot of good it did him back in Vegas, though. If the doorman didn’t remember him – _no_ , he couldn’t think like that. Things had been working out so far. Kent had to keep believing that everything was going to be okay. This wouldn’t turn out like last time. It wouldn’t.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Kent knew Providence as well as he knew Vegas, even though he hadn’t been here in almost a year. Better than he thought he would. And nearly every sight out the window reminded him of Tater. His chest was aching and tight by the time the Prius pulled up outside the New England brownstone.

“Good luck,” the driver grunted.

“Huh?”

“Whatever ya’re here for, ya look nervous,” he said, his Providence accent thick. “Hope it works out, kid.”

As the car drove away, Kent took a shaky breath. “Me too, man. Me too.”

His luck held as he walked up to the building, and there was Felix, looking as sharp as ever at his post by the shiny brass doors.

“Mr. Parson!” he said, grinning and tipping his hat, giving Kent a cheeky smile. “It’s been an awful long while since I seen you around here,” he added, holding the door open.

“My fault,” Kent said, fishing around in his wallet and handing Felix a folded bill. He’d always liked Tater’s former-Brooklynite doorman, and tipped him well. Besides, right now, he could use all the good karma he could get. And Felix deserved it. “I uh, I’m here to fix that though… is um… is he in?” If Tater wasn’t home, it hit Kent that he could be waiting a while.

Screw that, Tater had been waiting the better part of a year for Kent to get his shit together. Kent would sit outside in the hallway all damn day if he had to.

Felix scratched his chin. “I haven’t seen him come out on my shift, Mr. Parson. His mama, she came by yesterday. His pa too, I think. God Almighty, and I thought Mr. Tater was tall!”

Kent swallowed thickly. If Tater’s parents had been by, this was just more confirmation that he’d been hurt. There was a tiny part of Kent that had been hoping the article was some stupid overblown piece of publicity – but if Mashkov senior was here… hadn’t Tater said once that his father still split his time between here and Russia? Shit. This was bad. Felix was holding the door open, but still. Better ask. “Can… um, can I go up?” Kent hated the waver in his voice, but he knew Felix wouldn’t judge him.

Sure enough, the doorman smiled. “Sure thing, Mr. Parson.”

“You’re the best, Felix.”

“ ‘At’s what my momma always told me!”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

The elevator seemed to be taking a god damn _year_ even though logically, Kent knew it was moving normally. He was so fucking close now. He could taste it. He would say what he came to say, and if his luck held, then Tater would understand, and they could move forward. They could be together. Like they were supposed to. They’d get Tater all healed up, and he’d play next year. Better than ever. He could see it now, and it surprised him how _right_ it all felt. He was thinking about his future, his forever. And he wanted it with Tater.

As the elevator dinged on the fifth floor, Kent stepped out and got his first good look at himself since before he’d started playing last night.

Jesus _fuck_. No wonder he’d been getting weird looks.

His hair was even worse than usual, sticking up in about twenty different directions. His face, red and blotchy from crying on the second leg of his journey, was nowhere near his usual standard of primping. There were bags under his eyes, and he looked absolutely exhausted. This? This was the face he was going to use to try and win Tater back? Fuck. He’d block himself from his own twitter based on this pic, screw agreeing to spend a lifetime with someone.

He jogged over to the hall mirror and started raking his ringers through his hair, trying to get at least some semblance of ‘put together’ in order. He could imagine how things would go otherwise. What the hell was he even supposed to say??? Now that Kent was seconds away from knocking on Tater’s door, what he was about do was real and solid and terrifying.

_‘Hi, I know you’re terribly injured and we left things in a really toxic place, but I’m here now. I flew all the way out here because I realized I actually am the biggest fuck-up in the history of ever – but I couldn’t even be bothered to brush my hair’?_

He smelled his breath. Fuck. Or brush his teeth. _Shit_. No mints in his bag. To be honest, he was damn lucky that his bag had an extra pair of underwear in it. He had left so quickly that he hadn’t paid attention to much else besides getting himself across the country.

Nothing he could do about it now. Besides, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right? It didn’t matter what Kent looked like, he was _here_ , and he would be here for Tater from now on. Taking one last look in the mirror, Kent huffed. This was as good as it was going to get. He’d come all this way, he was not going to chicken out three fucking feet from the door.

He owed Tater that much.

The four steps from the mirror to Tater’s door seemed like the longest Kent had ever taken, and his feet felt like they were filled with lead. The only thing that kept him from running for the elevator like the coward Kent knew he was, was Tater’s smile, the way his eyes lit up – _used to light up_ – when he looked at Kent. How soft his voice could get when he called Kent, ‘ _kotyenok’_. Kent wanted those things back. And he silently vowed to give those things to Tater. If anyone deserved them, Alexei did. With that thought giving him strength, he raised a shaking fist and gave three hard knocks on the door.

Thirty seconds. A minute. A minute and a half. Kent kept twisting his wrist up to check his watch. How long was too long? What was the standard amount of time before it was okay to knock twice? Did that time limit change if you were trying to reconnect with the love of your life?

Oh god, what if Tater couldn’t get to the door? No… even if the doctor had told him to stay off his feet, Tater had never been very good at following doctor’s orders.

It had to have been enough time. Kent knocked again, a bit more insistently this time. Felix said Tater was home, and Felix was always on top of everything in this building.

He really shouldn’t knock a third time. Should he? He lifted his fist half-heartedly, internally debating on whether knocking a third time was adorably persistent or just plain rude. But then he heard footsteps running down the hall and the click of the door unlocking.

Relief flooding through him, Kent looked up, ready – _so fucking ready_ – to drink in Alexei Mashkov’s face for the first time in nearly ten months.

The door opened and Kent took a deep breath, but whatever thought he’d had died on his lips. The door was open but there was no smiling face where he expected it to be. There was no face there at all. He stood there with his mouth hanging open for a moment, wondering what to do. Then he heard the voice.

“Hi! How’re you?”

Since the voice could not possible have come from the empty air where Kent had assumed Tater’s sightline would be, he lowered his gaze until his eyes came to rest on a very tiny girl in pink and yellow pajamas holding the door open. She couldn’t have been more than three years old. Her dark curls framed sweet cherub cheeks, and her eyes were bluer than Jack’s. Kent hadn’t thought that was even possible.

He must have the wrong apartment.

Shit. Had Tater moved? No, Felix would have told him and stopped him from coming up.

The little girl was looking up at him expectantly, but what the hell was he supposed to say to this little girl?

Kent almost blurted out to her that she was clearly missing a sock, but the decision was taken away from him when he heard a shockingly familiar voice floating towards him from down the hall.

“Who is at door, my darling?”

Kent knew that soft rumbling bass. That was _Tater._ She was – what – what in the hell was going on here?

 

Tater walked down the hall, scooping up the little girl and cuddling her close making her giggle, before looking out into the hall and catching sight of Kent. He went suddenly still.

“What are you doing here?”

Tater did not sound angry, but he certainly didn’t sound happy either. He didn’t even sound surprised. Just… flat. It wasn’t the Tater he knew. Tater had never been one for hiding his emotions. And this guarded and unreadable greeting scared Kent.

Where the hell had that great speech gone? For the life of him, Kent couldn’t remember a single word of it. And Tater was still staring at him like that. Usually the Russian wore his emotions on his face as clear as a bell, but now… nothing.

“Hi Tater,” Kent said, raising a hand in a feeble wave, his voice cracking. He didn’t expect the bite in Tater’s response.

“Don’t you have hockey game to win?”

Either he wasn’t watching the finals, or Tater had lost track of the days. Whichever one it was, Kent needed him to know that he’d come to a realization. “Some things are more important than hockey.”

“Someone tell me once, nothing more important than hockey.”

Kent winced. But he knew he had to plow on. It was why he’d left the game, why he’d flown three thousand miles without a hairbrush. He needed to say it. “That someone was a total jerk,” Kent said, the ache in his chest coming back full force. He needed Tater to understand that Kent _knew_ how badly he’d fucked up. That he was here to fix it. “He was wrong. Me,” Kent added. “I was wrong.”

“Didn’t think you knew that word.”

This was easily the tensest silence Kent had ever been a part of, and he wasn’t sure what to say to that. He knew he deserved this, and probably a lot more. Honestly, Tater’s reaction, though it hurt, was pretty tame so far, all things considered. If the situations had been reversed, Kent knew he would probably have been throwing things and yelling by now.

Just as the silence seemed like it might go on forever, the little girl piped up.

“Papa, who is he?”

God, the Russian accent coming out of that little angel was the sweetest –

What.

Wait… _Papa?!_

* * *

 


	14. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys have a chat and they both say things they've needed to for a long time. There are tears and loud words and soft ones, but they are all important ones.

* * *

“He was my friend.”

The past tense was like a stab to Kent’s heart, but he knew he deserved it. He deserved it if Tater never wanted to see him again. And it would be his own damn fault if those were the next words to come out of the big man’s mouth. Kent prayed that whatever little piece of good karma he had left – if he had any at all – was enough for Tater to at least hear him out before he kicked him out.

Apparently, it was, because Tater knelt down, setting the little girl on her feet and telling her to play in her room, and that he would be back soon. She started walking, then turned back to Kent, clearly speaking to him.

“If you’re mean, you’re s’posed to say sorry. Friends say sorry.” Then she turned and stomped down the hall, roaring in a solidly decent impression of Godzilla.

Tater stood, watching her leave before stepping out into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a heavy sigh. He ran a large hand over his face, looking wearier than Kent had ever seen him now that the little girl wasn’t there. “Seriously, Kent. Why you here?”

A thousand ways to start apologizing flew through Kent’s brain, but what came out was, “Papa?”

“ _Da_.” And Tater was definitely starting to sound angry now. “I am ‘Papa’. Why do you care?’

“I love you.” Great, now he can spit it out, at the worst possible time. Eloquence was never Kent’s strong point. But instead of making things better, the declaration made Tater’s eyes narrow.

“Now? You think you can come here and say three little words, so everything is magic and happy? You think this make everything better, make everything you do before okay?!”

“No, I –”

“What you’re expecting, then?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting a _kid_ ,” Kent said, hating that his BPD was getting the better of him, especially right now. He did not want to lash out, now of all times, but this was not going how he had planned… he knew that wasn’t right, and that he didn’t have a right to be upset about his plans not working exactly how he meant them to, but it was so hard to hold himself together. This Papa thing was so far out of the realm of outcomes he’d thought about on the plane that it was throwing him for a serious loop.

“You’re the one who always wanted to get to know each other,” he said, trying to explain his need to know, to ask about it, “to meet families.” Kent knew he was whining, but he needed to understand why Tater had kept this from him. Secrets weren’t Alexei’s thing.

“What I want never seem to matter. You always are saying we’re not serious.” Tater’s dark eyes were shining. “I –” He took a deep breath, then seemed almost to deflate. “I’m not wanting to let her love someone who might leave.” He wiped at his eyes, and Kent was shocked to see the tears there. “I’m not let her lose anyone else.” Then he chuckled, but there wasn’t an ounce of happiness in it. “Look like I was right. You _did_ leave.” He sighed heavily, then continued on. “I – I can’t do this again, Kent. Last time… last time it hurt. So bad. Why you think this going to be any different?”

Tater looked so sad and heartbroken, and Kent was momentarily stunned into silence at the amount of pain he’d caused. “Alyosha…” he tried, voice breaking when he couldn’t get anything else to come out.

At the nickname, Tater’s composure broke and he slid down the wall until he was little more than a tangle of limbs leaning back against the floral wallpaper, one hand pressed to his chest like he was trying to keep his heart inside him by sheer force of will.

Kent couldn’t let him keep hurting. He kneeled down in front of him, gently setting a hand on Tater’s knee. “I know I may have lost you already. If – if I have, that’s my own damn fault, and I’ll have to live with it.” He paused, frowning. “That’s a fucking lie. I don’t want to live with it. I’m such a god damn idiot, Alexei. I love you,” he said. “I ‘ve loved you for ages. And as soon as I realized it, I got scared. That’s no fucking excuse for the chicken shit way I treated you, God, I know it.” Kent wiped at his own eyes.

“The last time I fell in love, it – I almost – shit happened. And – and I almost lost him. And then I was a first-rate jackass, and I _did_ lose him.” Kent let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “And I fucking did it again.” He took Tater’s hands in his. “I don’t want to lose you. I want to prove that this,” he squeezed Tater’s hands, “this is gonna work. I screwed up so bad Alyosha,” he whispered. “So bad. You were the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, and I hurt you. I’m sorry it took me this long to get that.”

Tater hadn’t pulled his hands away, which was something. But he still looked so sad.

He looked up, his brown eyes swimming with tears and Kent felt his breath catch in his chest. “I’m so sorry,” Kent said again, his voice a strangled whisper. “God Tater, I’m so sorry.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Kent was sorry… he loved him and he was sorry? He came out here to say this now? There had been a time when Tater wanted nothing more than the big grand gesture from the happy romantic movies he loved so much, but that time had passed a few months ago. He didn’t want that anymore. He thought he was done crying over this. He was angry… he was. He was angry at Kent for thinking this could fix things. Hadn’t Kent been the one who said they couldn’t fix it? So what was he doing here now? Why did he think this was allowed?

Tater sniffed, and opened his mouth to say all of this, any of this, but was stopped by his ringing phone. He gingerly pulled his hand out of Kent’s grip and answered.

“ ’Lo?”

“ _Hey Tater, it’s Jack. You sitting down? I’ve got some news for you, but I want to make sure you’re going to be okay when you hear it_.”

“I’m okay Zimmboni,” he said, unsure how anything Jack had to say could possibly shock him more right now.

“ _If you’re sure_ ,” Jack said, then continued. “ _So, I know you said you didn’t want to come to the team’s Stanley party last night, and that’s fine_ ,” Jack reassured him, “ _It got pretty loud at the end, you know. Everyone celebrating the win. Uncle Mario hoisted Bits up on his shoulders._ ” Tater almost smiled, listening as Jack kept going. Here was a conversation that wasn’t complicated, and he let it wash over him.

 _“I know you were looking for some quiet this weekend, so it’s just as well. But… I dunno if you were watching it on your own, but you may have missed the news. Kent, uh… Kent ran out on the cup. He left the game after intermission_ ,” Jack said. “ _No one officially knows why or where he is… but uh… I know him, and… well, I wouldn’t put it past him to be doing something dramatic, or trying to come see you… I um_ ,” and now Jack seemed to have run out of steam. “ _I just didn’t want you to be surprised if you heard from him or anything_.” He was silent for a minute. “ _Tater?_ ”

“He is here in my hallway.”

Jack was all business now. “ _Do you need me to come over? Bitty? Should I call Babushka_?”

Tater was touched that Jack was ready to drop everything, but he really didn’t think he could handle anyone else right now. “I’m… I’m okay Zimmboni,” he said again. “I… I need to say some things to Kent. But maybe… maybe you come over later?” Tater asked, his voice wavering a bit. “I’m not think Kent plan ahead.” His emotions were spinning, but Tater was pretty sure that much hadn’t changed.

“ _Of course, Tater. Bitty and I’ll be there, I promise. If anything changes and you need me, just call… okay_?”

“ _Da_ , Zimmboni. Okay.” Tater said goodbye, then hung up, carefully putting his phone back in his pocket before slowly looking back at Kent. He took in the gym clothes and Kent’s disheveled appearance. Before, Kent had never left the apartment without combing his hair, and now he looked an absolute mess. Jack’s words sunk in.

“You walk out on Stanley Cup.” It wasn’t a question.

Kent answered it anyway. “Yeah.”

“Game seven.” Tater had to check.

“Yeah.”

“You leave game seven. To come here.”

“I – I needed to see you.”

“You need – _team_ need you! I don’t need you!”

“But… you got hurt, and – I realized how much I couldn’t deal with that – I realized how badly I fucked up when I left.”

“Hurt? I’m not get – Kent, I not play in game since May! Falconers out of cup since round two, we are not getting to play.” He couldn’t help balling his hands into fists. “You have shot at something great and you walk out on people who need you.” Tater glared at him. “Seem to me this is your ‘thing’.”

“Tater, I –”

“Team need you, you leave. I need you, you leave,” he said, closing his eyes against the tears threatening to fall. “I need you,” he whispered.

“That’s why I came, Tater,” Kent said. “You got hurt and I realized how much I hurt you before, and I wanted to be here. To tell you. To fix it. I was so scared when I read –”

“What?” Tater knew he was snapping, but he was confused and angry, and he had no idea what Kent was talking about. “What you mean? I’m not hurt!”

“So you’re saying that a reporter completely invented you getting cut across the leg by a skate blade?” Kent was getting angry now, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

Tater went pale. “What you mean, ‘reporter’? And don’t say ‘person who writes for paper,’ my thick Russian skull learn that already,” he added, a bit in his voice. He hadn’t forgotten what Kent had said last October. “How reporter find out about that?”

“So it did happen?” Kent pressed.

“Not serious,” Tater grumbled, looking away. “I already tell trainer, get patched up. Little pee-wees have fight, I break up, get cut. Not big de–” he cut himself off, eyes widening as he looked at Kent.

“What, Tater?”

“You come out here… keep asking if I am hurt… you – you only come out here because you think I am in trouble. You want to save me… you’re not love me. Not really,” Tater said, his eyes welling up again, forcing himself to stand, using the wall to steady himself.

Kent stood too, grabbing Tater’s arm. “Of course I do!”

Tater stared at Kent, shaking his head sadly. “Kent, if you’re not thinking I’m hurt… tell truth, you be here right now?” At the silence, Tater gave Kent a rueful smile. “This what I think. Goodbye, Kent,” he said, but Kent did not let go.

“You’re right, Alyosha. If that article hadn’t been on my radar, I’d probably still be in Vegas right now. I really want to tell you I wouldn’t be. God, I do,” Kent said. “But I also don’t want to lie to you. Yeah, it took me being that scared to realize it… Alyosha, I’ve never been so scared in my life. I’m the biggest idiot in the world… and I’m so sorry that that’s what it took to get it through my head, but god, I love you. I love you so much.” Kent wiped at his own eyes. “I’m prepared to spend a long-ass time proving that to you,” Kent said. “As long as it takes.” Kent took a deep breath, clearly concentrating. “я здесь, Alyosha.”

* * *

 


	15. Moving Forward From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater has a think about things... what he wants, what he needs. And he makes a decision. A few decisions, actually.

* * *

_I’m here_. Tater felt his breath catch. For the longest time, that was all he wanted to hear Kent say. Now though, even though it felt good to hear, he wanted – needed – more.

“I see Kent. I see you are here. I do,” he said. “But… what happen when you leave again?” Tater swallowed heavily. “You have to go back to desert sometime. How I am know you come back?”

“I know my word isn’t good enough, and I totally understand why,” Kent said, not letting go of Tater’s arm. “I get that. I’m just… shit, I’m probably not doing this very well, am I?” He smiled up at Tater, chuckling. “They’re gonna fine my ass so fucking bad for leaving during the game too, I know it. But y’know, I haven’t really thought about any of that until right now?” Kent took a chance and slid his hand down Tater’s arm to give his hand a squeeze. “All of that… it’s all worth it if you’re willing to give me another shot.”

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Kent held his breath. This was it. This is what he had left the game for. This is why he had flown across the country without a change of clothes or brushing his teeth. This man, who was looking at him with those huge brown eyes. He’d never had trouble guessing what was going through Tater’s head before. But right now, when it mattered most, Kent had no idea what the Russian was thinking.

The silence stretched on. Kent didn’t dare break it, afraid that if he said anything, those would be the words that sent Tater running. He could feel his heartbeat, thudding against his ribs, pounding in his ears. Counting the seconds until Tater made his choice.

Finally, Tater spoke, slowly forming his thoughts into sentences. Kent could tell that he was being especially careful with his words, conscious more than ever of the fact that English was not Tater’s first language… and seeing a hint of the fear in Tater’s eyes too, fear that maybe these words weren’t quite right, but he was going to say them anyway.

“I’m not make promise I can’t keep. I… don’t know if I can promise… what you ask me.” Tater looked pained, but he locked eyes with Kent and his gaze softened. “But… I’m think… maybe… we try one day as it comes. Baby step. You hurt me,” he said softly, not wanting to admit it, but knowing that he needed to say it all the same. “You hurt me. But you are trying… even I can see that.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Baby step okay?”

Kent’s face split into a wide and tearful grin. “That’s so fucking okay Tater, thank you.”

Tater winced. “Watch language, please. If you are going to be around, Anya is not needing to pick up your bad habits.”

The little girl. “Her name is Anya?”

“ _Da_.”

“And you’re her Papa?” Kent wanted to know. “I’m here, Tater. Please, tell me. I want to be here for all of it, okay?”

Tater sighed again. “No… is long story. Today is long enough… maybe for another day. Short version, I am not always her papa, but I am now. My best friend in Russia, she was his. Named me… what is your word… godfather,” he said. “Anya is with me for over a year now. Is one of reasons Mamochka comes over from Mirny. Child Service not let single parent adopt if they work like me. Mama help,” he explained. “So does Babushka and Natalya.”

“Natalya?” Was she one of the pretty girls on Tater’s twitter?

“Sister.”

Oh. Well, she still could have been one of those girls. Either way, he realized that Tater’s family was bigger than he’d thought. And Tater had wanted to bring Kent into it, he had wanted to introduce Kent to them all. He had wanted Kent to be in their lives. He was hit again with just how much he had screwed up. “Whenever you think it’s right Tater, I’d really like to meet them.”

Tater actually laughed. “May happen sooner than you think,” he said. “Baba, if she find out you are here… she be saying some things to you… not nice things.”

“I deserve that.” He did. And he knew it.

Tater looked pensive, then he smirked. “Will be interesting, then. I not save you… being honest, I think you deserve it too.”

“That’s fair,” Kent said. “More than fair, Tater. I… I really want to make this right, Alexei. And if getting my… _butt_ ,” he caught himself, “chewed out by your grandma helps with that, then that’s what I have to do.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Tater cautioned. “When I am little, I think Babushka is Baba Yaga. Witch who have iron teeth,” he said at Kent’s confused look, laughing when the smaller man’s eyes widened. “If she ‘chew you out’, it hurt.”

“Duly noted,” Kent said, making a mental note to bring Babushka an apology gift when he met her. “So… I’ll totally understand if you say no…” he started, waiting to give Tater the chance if he wanted it.

“Ask, Kent,” Tater said, waving his hand. “If I’m not want, I will say, deal?”

“Deal,” Kent smiled. “So… is there any chance I can meet Anya? Properly? I want to tell her that I did what she said and apologized.”

“Doing what she say is best, most of time.” Tater sighed, and Kent knew that he had to accept Tater’s decision, whatever it was. He needed to start proving that he was willing to compromise, to make Tater happy, and listen to him. To make sure Tater knew that Kent considered him a partner. But he was surprised to realize that he really wanted Tater’s answer to be yes. He really did want to meet this little girl. He had absolutely not expected a kid… and if asked, he never would have said that he considered himself great with kids. The thought of being a _father_ had never entered his head before – and Kent had to force his runaway freight train of thought to slow right the fuck down. Baby steps. He was just going to say ‘hi’ to the kid. If Tater said it was okay He wanted Tater to say it was okay.

“I tell her you are my friend,” Tater said, “not anything else. I say already, I can’t let her lose anyone else. I – I want to believe you, Kent. I do,” he said. “But I don’t… not yet.”

Kent smiled softly, giving Tater’s hand another squeeze. “It’s okay… I understand. And I want to earn that, Tater. Just – the fact that you’re willing to give me a chance… it’s better than I deserve. Thanks,” Kent said, biting his lip before he got any more sentimental.

Tater raised an eyebrow, but didn’t call him on it. “You want to come in?”

Kent couldn’t get words out around the lump in his throat. He nodded, smiling up at Tater as the big man stood up, pulling Kent with him. For his part, Tater did smile back, and though it was a far cry from his light-up-an-entire-city beam, it was something.

Kent picked up his gym bag from where it had been forgotten by Tater’s door. “Um… mind if I bring this in? Just for now,” he said hurriedly. “I’m not asking to sleep over or anything. You were right before though… I didn’t really think this through.”

Tater chuckled. “Some thing never change. Bring inside,” he said, tilting his head toward the door. “We work out what to do with bag later. You want to meet my daughter,” he said.

“I do,” Kent replied, smiling.

 

_/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_ _/\\_

 

Ten months ago, Tater _dreamed_ of hearing Kent say those two words. Now all they did was stir a dull ache in his heart. But Kent was here. Never in a million years did he think Kent would have shown up at his door.

The movies always made it seem like the moment an ex-lover came back was the happiest ever. Everything you wanted was happening, they had realized that your dreams were their dreamed. There was hugging, and kissing, and touching. Everyone who cried, you could tell they were happy tears. Like they had forgotten whatever awful thing had happened when the other person left.

Alexei was pretty sure that whatever person wrote those movies had never been dumped like that. It wasn’t like that at all. When he’d seen Kent standing there, his first thought hadn’t been how much he’d missed Kent. No, it had been a vivid flashback to the diner parking lot, Kent’s last insults buzzing back into his brain. And he’d been angry. No one in the movies was angry.

But Kent was here. True, it was for a strange reason, but he was here. That had to count for something… didn’t it? He had been so happy with Kent, right up until everything had become ash. Was it wrong to want to be happy again? He didn’t want to be hurt again. He never wanted to feel that way ever again.

So why was he letting Kent in? was he a glutton for punishment? Was he the fool that someone would surely call him? His family knew how badly Kent had hurt him… what would Baba really say? Papa? Mamochka? Natalya? No way to know for sure, but he was pretty certain that a few choice phrases of American slang were sure to come out of Natalya’s mouth that would have Babushka boxing her ears if she knew what they meant.

Alexei had so many questions. He felt like when Anya was on one of her tears, every question he answered leading to six more. Except right now, he had no answers at all. Except that Kent wanted to meet his little girl. Would it last? Would he want to stay after that? Kent had come back, yes. But he hadn’t known about Anya. Would it change his mind?

All Alexei knew right now was that there was only one place to start, and that was the little green and blue bedroom down the hall, where Anya was playing.

“Come on, Kent… let’s go.”

And if this was going to make Kent turn tail and run again, best to get it out of the way sooner rather than later. Then again, Tater thought, with a swoop in the pit of his stomach, he wanted Kent to stay.

Maybe he wasn’t as out-of-love with Kenny as he thought. Baby steps, Alyosha. Baby steps. They could start with those.

 

**_FIN_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now.... 
> 
> Yes, I said for now. There is absolutely a sequel planned for this, that will probably be a MONSTER because i have So Much Planned for my babies. Seriously, so much. 
> 
> I have no idea when it'll get written, but it will. I can't leave Tater sad. That's like, illegal or something. 
> 
> Thanks again to the epically talented Sophia, for doing the CPBB art for this fic... which if you haven't checked it out, DO THAT because it's glorious. http://ensign-c.livejournal.com/1952.html
> 
> If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading! I'd love your thoughts, feedback makes me so happy. 
> 
> ~Beanie


	16. AUTHOR ANNOUNCEMENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR ANNOUNCEMENT - PLEASE READ
> 
> This is about this fic, and potential sequels

Hello everyone! 

The response to this fic has been amazing over the last year. 

 

So much so that I've spent the last year reworking the original concept with brand new characters - everyone is original, and I've created two brand new hockey teams from scratch - reworking the story into an original work, with over 20,000 words of material not seen here, as well as plans for the sequel. 

 

I will be taking this work down by the end of September. 

 

If you have enjoyed this, thank you! Please keep an eye out in the future, and I will definitely be updating my tumblr with any future news regarding traditional avenues of publication. You can find me there at beaniebaneenie, or my strictly writing blog, c-j-hawkins. 

 

Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Check, Please! Big Bang, and there is AMAZING SPLENDIFEROUS ART that has been created by the incomparable Sophia... check it out here: http://ensign_c.livejournal.com/1952.html
> 
> There are some Russian words sprinkled in here... Google Translate was my friend in this, so if anything is wrong, please let me know, I'll fix it!
> 
> Привет - Hello  
> Катуа - Katya  
> пюре - mashed potatoes  
> нет - no  
> русский - Russian  
> Спасибо - Thank you  
> Алёша - Alyosha, a nickname for Alexei  
> да, мама - yes, Mama  
> мой котенок - my kitten  
> я здесь - I'm here


End file.
